


The Witness

by KouriArashi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - Human, Bisexuality, Crimes & Criminals, Erica and Boyd being really amused, Food Porn, Innuendo, M/M, Masturbation, POV Chris Argent, Sassy Peter Hale, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Witness Protection, also, and Chris being 500 percent done, basically just Peter being a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case against the crime boss Deucalion hinges on the testimony of Peter Hale, who's been put under 24 hour protection. Chris Argent is in charge of his security detail, and if Peter won't stop hitting on him, he might not live to see the trial...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this entirely for fun and have done no research whatsoever. For all I know, FBI stands for ‘fangirl bureau of innuendo’ (tm). Thank you and good night.

 

Chris Argent looked up from his desk as he heard his name being called from across the room. His boss, Director Stilinski, was waving at him from his office. He filed away what he was working on and crossed the floor to head into the man’s office.

“Got a special job for you,” Stilinski said, not wasting any time on preamble. “I assume you’re up-to-date on the trial coming up for Deucalion?” he added, and Chris nodded. Everyone in the department was following it on the news. He had been a big bust for them, with dozens of charges: murder, extortion, kidnapping, racketeering. Chris hadn’t been personally involved with the arrest, but he knew more about it than the average member of their department, because his wife had been a victim in a related drive-by shooting. “Our star witness, Peter Hale, is going to be under police protection for the duration of the trial,” Stilinski continued. “You’re now in charge of his protection detail.”

Chris nodded, satisfied. He had requested the job specifically, although he hadn’t been sure if he would get it. He had experience with it and was good at what he did, but some of his superiors had expressed concern about his personal connection with the case. He had argued that it would only make him more vigilant; he had more reason to want Deucalion behind bars than anyone else in his department. Victoria had only been coming out of a coffee shop when the shooting broke out, and she had died on the operating table an hour later. It had been years ago, but it still hurt.

“They’ve got him in a safehouse on the south side of town,” Stilinski said. “I don’t have the address myself, but they said you would know it, code name Greenhouse.”

“Yeah,” Chris said. He had been on protection detail for someone there before during a one-week trial, about a year before. “Okay.”

“There’s already a team in place, and they’re going to meet you there. A couple of them have been on his detail since he first turned state’s evidence, but they’re ramping up security now that the actual trial is starting next week.”

Chris nodded again. He knew all this, but he also knew that Stilinski was detail oriented and meticulous, so he wouldn’t stop him from going over it. They talked about schedules and staff and other procedures for a few minutes.

“One more thing,” Stilinski said, and hesitated. “I’ve heard that he can be . . . difficult.”

“Difficult how?” Chris asked.

“Demanding. And, let’s say, disinclined to listen to the people who are responsible for his safety.”

“Ah,” Chris said. He’d dealt with people like that before. People who didn’t think that the surveillance was necessary, or who got too pent up and tried to sneak out constantly to indulge in drugs or sex. “It won’t be a problem, sir.”

“Well, yes and no,” Stilinski said. “I have every confidence that you can keep him safe. But he’s known to threaten not to testify if he doesn’t get what he wants. I’m sure you’re aware that his testimony makes almost our entire case.”

“And he thought he’d give a few statements and then be home free,” Chris said dryly. “So now he doesn’t want to be here and doesn’t see why all this is necessary.”

Stilinski shrugged. “I’m not sure about that. Reyes said he just seemed to like to rattle people. I’m just saying, it’s up to you to keep him happy and ready to testify, but don’t hesitate to slap him down if you need to. I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you, sir.” Chris went out to his desk and took a few minutes to get some things together before he left the building. He took a long, circuitous route to get to the safe house. It didn’t seem likely that anybody could know his assignment and follow him, but he couldn’t be too careful. It took him about forty minutes to make the drive.

He had never met Peter Hale, the prosecution’s star witness in the case against Deucalion. From what Chris knew, Peter was a con man, a hustler, good at what he did but nothing remarkable. He had gotten Deucalion’s eye after a particularly daring scam and wound up joining the man’s gang, working his way up through the ranks. But when Deucalion had been arrested and his criminal empire had fallen into pieces, Peter was the one who was first to roll on his compatriots, agreeing to testify against Deucalion in exchange for immunity for his own crimes.

Peter’s testimony made the case against Deucalion a slam dunk, and Chris knew that he should be grateful for it. But at the same time, he hated people like that, people who had no loyalty, who only looked out for themselves. He was sure that when Peter emerged from this, he would pick up the pieces of Deucalion’s criminal enterprises and profit enormously.

Between that and what Stilinski had told him, he wasn’t looking forward to meeting the man. But the case was important, and he wasn’t going to let his personal feelings about things get in the way of doing his job. He had guarded worse criminals than this.

The safe house was in a completely nondescript apartment building not far from downtown. Anonymity was just as important as security in this sort of thing, but he was pleased to note that the main door had an electronic lock, and as he stood out front to pretend to have a cigarette, the two people who came in made sure to close the door behind themselves before he could get in after him. It wasn’t in a good part of town; the tenants would be extra careful.

He buzzed up to apartment 403. A female voice picked up a minute later with a cheerful, “Yello!”

“Reyes? It’s Argent. Buzz me in.”

“What’s the password!” Erica Reyes asked.

“I know you’re desperate to have a coffee break. Buzz me in.”

“Correct!”

The door clicked and Chris went through into the little lobby. His gaze flicked around. He didn’t see the cameras, but he knew they were there. There was one in the elevator, too; he knew that the controls for it were in their apartment and they could shut it down if they needed to. He exited onto the fourth floor. The hallways were lit with garish fluorescent bulbs and the carpet was brown, thin and worn. He went down and knocked on the door to 403 in a specific pattern.

It swung open a minute later and he was faced by a large black man he knew by reputation, if not personally. “Agent Boyd?” he presumed, and the man nodded and shook his hand.

“Hey, Chris, going out for my coffee break,” Erica says, swooping by him. “Oh, hey, this is Agent Boyd, Agent Lahey – guys, this is Special Agent-in-Charge, Chris Argent. He’s our boss now. Don’t kiss his ass; he doesn’t like that. Bye!” She flounced out of the apartment.

Chris shook his head a little. The other two men didn’t seem fazed, so clearly they had worked with Erica before. He introduced himself to them again, in a slightly less manic fashion, and then Boyd showed him their surveillance set up. They had the apartment right across the hall from Peter Hale. Chris took a look at the cameras. “I don’t see him.”

“No, he’s in the bedroom,” the other man, Isaac Lahey, reported. “He insisted on not having a camera in there. A man deserves his privacy, according to him. So there’s a camera in the living room, kitchen, but none in the bed or bath.”

“Windows in the bedroom?” Chris asked, thinking more of Peter sneaking out than of an assassin sneaking in.

“Yeah, but the fire escape’s off the living room,” Lahey said.

“Wouldn’t matter to someone determined enough,” Chris said. “We’re putting a camera in the bedroom. I’ll discuss that with him.”

“You’re the boss,” Lahey said, with a shrug.

“Is it just the four of us?” Chris asked.

Boyd nodded. “Outside of us and the DA, nobody else in the world knows where Peter Hale is. And as far as anyone else in the building knows, we’re just a trio of college students renting a cheap apartment while we take classes at UC. I do hipster pretty well.”

“Good,” Chris said, nodding. He liked this team; they seemed put together and professional. “I’m going to go introduce myself and take up the matter of the camera in the bedroom.”

He left apartment 403 and headed across the hall. It had always amused him that the safe house apartment number was 404. “404, witness not found,” Erica had joked, saying what everyone was thinking, the first time they had used it. Chris shook his head. The name plate read ‘Hardy’. Hale and hearty. Someone had a sense of humor. He gave the door a brief knock.

The door opened a moment later and Chris was more than a little startled by the man who stood there. He had to admit that his own internal prejudices had heavily influenced his imagined vision of Peter Hale. He had pictured someone ugly, greasy, unhygienic, poorly dressed. The man standing there could have been in GQ. He was several inches shorter than Chris, with brown hair cropped short and a neat goatee, and he was dressed in jeans and a V-neck shirt that definitely did _not_ have Chris’ gaze dropping to the point it made.

“Ah,” Peter said, “you must be the special agent in charge.”

Even his _voice_ was delicious, and Chris firmly banned all thoughts along those lines. “How could you tell?”

“You have that sort of face,” Peter said. “Stern. Foreboding. Plus I can see the bulge that your shoulder holster makes in your jacket. Do come a little more subtly dressed next time, won’t you?”

Chris sighed. “A man in a suit isn’t necessarily a cop, and nobody can see the gun until they get close. If any assassins get close enough to realize I have a gun, they’re going to have bigger problems. Can I come in?”

“By all means,” Peter said, standing back to let him in. Chris glanced around to assess the apartment. He had been in it before, but it was always good to check the location of the furniture and any other items. It’s decorated sparsely, but there are stacks of books that had been moved in. Sensible enough. Peter had already been in protective custody for over a month; the trial had been fast-tracked because of it, but he must have gone through a lot of books. There was an armchair with a blanket in it and a mug of tea on a side table tucked away in the corner. “So,” Peter said, closing the door. “You are?”

“Special agent in charge Chris Argent,” he responded automatically.

“Can I call you Chris?” Peter asked, smiling.

Chris frowned. “No.”

“Well, I can’t call you Agent Argent. Does anyone call you that? What a tongue-twister. Good lord, no.”

“Then just call me Mr. Argent.”

“Whatever you say, special agent in charge,” Peter replied, his voice dripping amusement on the last two words.

Chris didn’t rise to the baiting. “We need to discuss the issue of a camera in your bedroom.”

“Oh, not really,” Peter said. “I won’t have one in there. And that’s pretty much the end of the discussion.”

“The bedroom has windows. Windows that someone could use to get in, or that you could use to get out. Which means there needs to be one in there.”

“Board the windows up, then.”

Chris felt his polite smile growing strained. “That would basically announce to anyone outside that something odd is going on in this apartment. I thought you were encouraging subtlety.”

Peter shrugged. “This from the man in a government goon squad suit.”

“This is a matter of security, Mr. Hale. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know where you are.”

“Well, if I’m not on any of the cameras, you can assume I’m in the bedroom, can’t you,” Peter said, smirking. “If you’re worried about me sneaking out, why don’t you put a camera on the outside of my window?”

Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “Outdoor cameras stand out, and they’re subject to environmental interference.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“It is your problem, because I won’t be satisfied with the security set-up until I have eyes on you, and I’m sure you’ve been – ”

Peter interrupted him. “Let’s get something straight, special agent in charge.” His voice is still pleasant, but there’s an edge of mockery to the title. “You need me. Your entire case against Deucalion falls apart without me. Your superiors are willing to do just about anything to keep me happy. And we both know it. So let’s not have any more talk of a camera in my bedroom. Mm?”

“My superiors have given me permission to tell you how it’s going to be,” Chris replied, “and this is how it’s going to be. What we both ‘know’ is that you _are_ going to testify. You lose your immunity without it, and you don’t want to end up in jail. I’m not asking your permission to put a camera in your bedroom, Mr. Hale; I am doing you the courtesy of keeping you informed. If you’d like, I could agree with you, and then hide a nanny cam in there when you’re not looking. It makes no difference to me.”

Peter tilted his head to one side, then surprised Chris by giving a mock shiver. “Such _authority_ ,” he said. “Special agent in charge, indeed. It’s been a long time since anyone dared talk to me like that.”

“Get used to it,” Chris said.

“Oh, I intend to,” Peter murmured. “All right, then. Put your cameras wherever you like. Just don’t blame me if you see something that you don’t like.”

“Like you, sneaking out?” Chris challenged.

“I have no plans to sneak out. I like my skin intact, thank you very much,” Peter said. “But you know, if you’re angling to see me naked, you could just _ask_.”

For the second time, Chris was taken aback. He squared his jaw and said, “Not interested. Now, I have work to do. If there’s anything you need, just let us know.”

“Where to start,” Peter said, his gaze flicking up and down Chris’ body, and Chris decided to get gone while the going was good.

He was discomfited to find that Erica was back in apartment 403, wearing a pair of headphones. “Dude, that was epic,” she said, when Chris came back in, snickering madly. “He wants to climb you like a tree!”

“Thank you for that assessment, Reyes,” Chris said, and shook his head. “Lahey, go set up one of the cameras in the bedroom. Try to keep it discreet.”

“Yes, sir.” Isaac stood up and started sorting through the equipment. Chris spent a few minutes talking with Erica about the set-up they had and the shifts they’ve been taking. They’ll all live in the apartment, so technically they’re on duty all the time, just taking shifts watching the cameras and running errands as needed. It was a two bedroom place; Erica had had her own room up until now but said she didn’t mind rooming with Boyd.

Isaac came back a few minutes later and they get the camera checked out. Peter was still in the living room, curled up back in his chair. Chris glowered at the screen. He didn’t trust the little guttersnipe. Isaac cleared his throat and said, “He said he needed some groceries. I guess the place didn’t come with much.”

“Did he give you a list?” Chris asked, and Isaac nodded. “Okay. I’ve got to run back to my place and pick up some clothes and stuff anyway. I’ll run by the store. Anything you guys want for this place?”

They added a few things to the list, handed it over, and he tucked it into his pocket before heading back to his own apartment. He packed up a suitcase full of clothes and toiletries, added a couple books, and then went to the grocery store. It was only then that he pulled out the list and almost started laughing in the middle of a Safeway.

Erica had tossed a few things onto the list at the bottom. ‘Coffee, frozen pizza, Eggos’. Boyd had added in his neatly packed handwriting, ‘orange juice, canned tomato soup’.

Every item Peter had on the grocery list was longer than their entire entries. ‘Tea: English Breakfast, Twinings only, _not_ decaf, it will come in a red box’. ‘Tamari: that is not the same as soy sauce, do not buy me soy sauce’. ‘Cheese: two bars cheddar, white, extra-sharp only’. ‘Ginger: fresh _only_ , powdered ginger is _not_ what I am asking for.’ ‘Leeks: they look like green onions, but are larger. At least one bundle of three.’

“I know what a God damned leek is, Hale,” Chris growled at the grocery list. The _entire_ list was like that, almost forty items. He knew that Peter had to eat, but this was ridiculous. A little specificity could be forgiven – Isaac, for example, had added ‘pop-tarts, raspberry or blueberry’, but there was specificity and then there was ‘egg noodles: fine, yolk-free, made by Manschwietz, usually in the kosher section of the grocery store’.

“Does this place even have a kosher section?” Chris muttered to himself.

It did, fortunately, and after some searching and once having to admit defeat and ask a clerk, Chris managed to assemble everything on Peter’s list. The only exception was a loaf of bread that he wanted, a specific variety (honey whole wheat) made by a specific company (Alpine Valley Bread). The store carried the brand, but didn’t have any of that variety. Chris grabbed another loaf of similar looking bread and vowed not to mention it to Peter.

When he got back to the apartment, he called Boyd to have him help carry it all upstairs, and then sent him to bring it in. “You’re avoiding him,” Erica said, smirking. Chris didn’t dignify this with a response. He watched Boyd give Peter the groceries. At least Peter looked appropriately grateful, the smug little bastard. Chris watched on the screens as he unpacked them all. When he found the loaf of bread, he looked up at the camera in the kitchen and made a little tsk-tsk-tsk noise that set Chris’ nerves on edge. But at least he didn’t immediately demand they rectify the problem.

Chris had agreed to take the evening shift, so after he got all his things moved into the room he would be sharing with Isaac, he made himself a sandwich and sat down in front of the monitors. Surveillance was a boring job ninety-nine percent of the time. He had long ago trained himself on how to stay alert. It was only going to get more boring once Peter had gone to sleep, but even more necessary then. They had cameras over the two entrances to the building, and those monitors were up too, so anyone suspicious entering the building would be flagged. They were in the apartments furthest from the elevators, so anyone who exited on the floor would be noted long before they got to their door. Similarly, there was a camera in the stairwell, and the door to the stairs was locked so they could exit through it if necessary, but it couldn’t open from the stairs themselves.

He listened to music and ate his sandwich and watched the monitors. People came in and out. It was a chilly winter evening; everyone was bundled up. Peter was in the kitchen for a good portion of the evening, and then retired back to his chair. Around ten o’clock, he stood and indulged in a long stretch, then headed into the bathroom, presumably for a shower.

Half an hour later, he came out of the bathroom, completely naked and still damp. Chris nearly choked on his own saliva. The joke Peter had made about seeing him naked, well – Chris had assumed that was a _joke_. Nobody would just wander around naked if other people, strangers even, could see them. How did he even know that it was Chris who was watching the monitors?

That aside, Chris was quickly distracted by the fact that Peter had a _damned_ good body. It wasn’t that criminals were slobby as a general rule, but Peter – he was that perfect balance between muscular and average. Well-cut without being obtrusive.

He was startled out of his totally inappropriate thoughts when Peter looked up at the camera Isaac had put in, clearly knowing exactly where it was. He gave the camera a sly smile and a wave. “I know it’s you,” he said. “You would’ve taken the first shift, am I right? Juuuuuust in case I was being serious about putting myself on display.”

It took all of Chris’ considerable self-control not to burst into Peter’s apartment and explain that that was _not_ why he had taken the first shift, and if Peter had a problem with that, he could take his fancy groceries and shove them up his ass. He made a solemn promise to himself then and there that Peter would never, _ever_ , know that he had indeed taken the first shift and seen Peter do this.

“Well, good night then,” Peter said, and then all but purred, “special agent in charge.”

He turned out the lights, and the image on the screen went dim and grainy.

Chris needed a drink.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“He can be difficult,” Chris muttered to himself several days later. “Difficult. _Difficult_. Nobody told me that he was actually Satan in a V-neck.”

“What’s that, boss?” Erica called over from where she was doing the dishes.

“Nothing,” Chris replied. He had just started his two hour shift on surveillance. Somehow – _how?_ – Peter had a sixth sense for who was on shift and when. Had he figured out their schedule? Was there a way he could do that? It was like he could psychically feel Chris’ gaze on him from the apartment across the hall.

Peter had a fairly set schedule, which made sense, given that he was basically under house arrest. He spent the morning on his laptop. It wasn’t connected to the internet – a basic precaution that kept him from sending any e-mails or messages that people would be able to trace back to him – but he seemed to have found something that he could do on it. At least part of that seemed to be rehearsing his testimony. Chris was satisfied to see that at least he was taking that seriously.

After that, he spent a good portion of the day in the kitchen. He liked to cook, apparently. Chris was already sick of living off cereal and canned soup after three days, and there were times when he really wanted to go over to the other man’s apartment and steal a portion of whatever he was making. When he was done cooking, he would curl up in the chair to read or watch television.

Chris had glanced over the others’ shoulders a few times as a matter of course, spot checking as was his wont, and whenever someone else was on shift, Peter would curl up demurely or stand at the kitchen counter and work. But when _Chris_ was on surveillance duty, he sprawled out like somebody’s idea of a wanton sex kitten. At least two inches of his stomach were visible where his shirt had ridden up. Chris wasn’t sure whether or not that was even _legal_ , and either way it was very definitely not necessary. When Peter was in the kitchen and Chris was on duty, he spent a lot of time bending over so his butt was right in the camera.

At this particular moment, he was finishing up with some sort of batter he had been making, and he was licking off the spatula. Thoroughly. _Passionately_.

Chris needed a cold shower.

Then there were the demands. Peter would occasionally just look at the camera and say off-handedly “I need some fresh air” or “I’m all done with these books, take them back to the library for me” or “somebody come in and order pay-per-view for me”. It was never a request or phrased politely or anything other than a command. If he didn’t get his way, he would resort to “I suppose they don’t _really_ need me to testify” or the ever-popular “do you smell gas?”

“Little boys who cry wolf get eaten,” Chris had snarled at him after that last comment, after they had determined that no, there was no gas leak.

“Oh, are you going to _eat me_ , special agent in charge?” Peter had said, laughing at him.

“He’s the devil,” Chris muttered, watching Peter pleasure a spatula on the monitor.

Somehow, he made it to the end of his shift (by which point Peter was just sitting in a chair, reading, like he had never committed obscene acts with a kitchen implement, and nobody would believe Chris if he tried to tell them). Two minutes after he stood up, thinking of that shower, Peter looked up and said to the monitor, “I’m bored. Somebody go rent me a movie.”

Boyd looked up from the chair. Isaac was asleep, and Erica had been working all morning. “You wanna take this one, boss?”

Chris suppressed a groan. “I’ll handle it,” he said, getting his keys. He walked across the hall and went into the apartment, letting himself in so he didn’t have to wait. “What do you want?” he asked, not bothering to be pleasant. He could hardly believe it had only been three days. Three measly days and he already wanted to throttle this man – _after_ he had stripped all his clothes off and fucked him senseless. The trial hadn’t even started yet, and was likely to last at least a month. He was never going to make it.

Peter looked up and gave Chris that smirk of his. “Will you stay and watch it with me, special agent in charge?”

“No. What do you want?”

“Something . . . romantic. Rated R – no PG-13 crap. Happy ending. I don’t do sad endings; what’s the point? Nothing with raunchy humor. And please try to avoid Julia Roberts; I generally want to put my fist through the television when she’s involved.”

Chris glowered at him. “So it’s not just groceries that you’re pedantic about.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m trying to make things easy on you. If you get the wrong thing and I have to send you back to the store, wouldn’t that be annoying?”

“Only if I actually agreed to go,” Chris said.

Peter just smiled benevolently. “Do you have any children, special agent in charge?”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I’m just curious. You seem the impatient type.”

“Keep that in mind,” Chris retorted, and left the apartment building. There was only one video rental store anywhere near the complex, and it was dead empty. He found himself trolling the shelves, wondering if it would be possible to find a movie starring Julia Roberts that had raunchy humor _and_ a sad ending. He settled for America’s Sweethearts. It was PG-13 and had a fair amount of raunchy humor, if he remembered correctly from the time Allison had made him watch it with her (thanks to her never-ending crush on John Cusack), so at least it hit about half of Peter’s ‘do not want’ list.

“Date night?” the clerk chirped, when Chris handed her the movie.

“Something like that,” he grunted. He forced a smile, paid for it, and headed back to the apartment.

“Whatcha got there?” Erica asked.

“A movie that is as close to the opposite of what Hale asked for as I can get,” Chris replied.

Erica’s eyebrows went up, and she clearly stifled a giggle. “That’s not a good idea, boss.”

“Don’t give me this ‘we have to keep him happy if we want him to testify’ bullshit, Reyes – ”

“Oh, no, that’s not why I’m saying it,” Erica says. “We both know he’s going to testify. We _all_ know that he’s going to testify. But starting a pissing contest with a guy like this? It is a bad idea. I’ve been on his security detail from day one, you know, and I’ve watched him drive five other agents around the bend. I think McCall took up drinking. You may think you’re getting petty revenge, but I _promise_ you that he is five times more capable of pettiness than you are. You start down this road with him, you are not gonna like where it goes.”

“Well, the difference between him and me is that I don’t have to tolerate his bullshit,” Chris said.

Erica just grinned. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” she sing-songed, and bounced back into the room she shared with Boyd.

Chris glared after her. Then he looked at Boyd and said, “What do you think?”

“I think I am _not_ getting involved in this,” Boyd said, not looking away from the monitors.

“Probably a good call,” Chris said, and then headed across the hall. He let himself in and tossed Peter the movie. “There. That’s what they had.”

Peter glanced down at the cover, taking in Julia Roberts’ face. A slow smile curved across his face. Surprisingly, he didn’t protest or argue or even make a comment. All he said was, “Thank you . . . special agent in charge.”

Chris scowled at him and left the apartment, wondering why he felt more unnerved than ever.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris was texting with Allison about her plans for the winter break when he heard Peter speak up on the monitor. He sounded more annoyed that normal. “Son of a bitch,” the man said, and Chris glanced over at Isaac, who was watching the monitor.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Isaac shrugged. “I think he broke something in the kitchen.”

Chris texted ‘be right back’ to Allison and then got up to look at the monitor. Peter was fiddling around in the sink. After a few moments, he looked up and said peevishly, “A little help?”

Isaac glanced up at Chris in silent question, and Chris sighed. “I’ll handle it,” he said. Even when someone was in Peter’s apartment, someone still had to watch the monitors, to keep an eye on the building’s entrances and exits. Isaac nodded, and Chris headed across the hall.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What kind of garbage disposal can’t handle _carrot peels_ , for fuck’s sake,” Peter said. He sounded genuinely frustrated. It was the most emotion that Chris had heard out of him since his arrival. Peter wasn’t done, either; he continued in the same tone, “It’s bad enough that I’m under house arrest, but this place is a dump! The light in the bathroom flickers and the oven doesn’t heat evenly and I swear to God there are crickets living in the walls.”

“Sorry this isn’t the Waldorf-Astoria,” Chris said. “Crime doesn’t pay.”

Peter gave him a sour look. “Crime pays extremely well, when you’re good at it, which is why this is such a step down for me. Do you mind?”

Chris sighed. “Did you empty out the trap?”

Peter’s face was completely blank. “Beg pardon?”

“The trap, the U-bend under the sink,” Chris said. Peter still looked blank. “For Christ’s sake. You have no idea what I’m talking about. You’ve never had to fix a sink before?”

“When would I have had to fix a sink?” Peter asked, edging towards exasperation. “I’ve never lived in a place with a piece of crap for a garbage disposal.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll show you. Get me that big mixing bowl you use,” he added, and Peter handed it over. Chris got down on his knees to move things out from underneath the sink and placed the bowl underneath the trap before he started to unscrew it. When he did, a bunch of ground up carrot and a slew of orange-tinted liquid fell into the bowl.

“That is revolting,” Peter remarked.

Chris sighed. “Is it draining?” he asked.

“No,” Peter replied.

“Great,” Chris muttered. They couldn’t exactly call a plumber – well, they _could_ , but any added variable was a risk – so he would have to fix this himself. Well, fine. He had been a bachelor for years. He could fix a sink. He started unscrewing more pieces of pipe, trying to figure out where the clog was. “How’s it look up there?”

“Fine,” Peter replied.

Something about his tone of voice sent red flags up for Chris. He frowned and backed out to see Peter sitting on the counter, blatantly staring at his ass. He looked in the sink. It was completely empty. “You son of a bitch,” he said.

Peter laughed. “The view was so nice, I couldn’t help myself. Besides, I like a man who’s handy around the house.”

Chris thought back to Erica’s words about getting into a war of attrition with Peter Hale, and, with effort, didn’t rise to the man’s baiting. Instead, he went back to what he was doing, putting the pipes under the sink back together. Peter could stare all he wanted. After a few minutes, he stood up and ran some water in the sink. It cleared fine.

“Don’t put anything else in the garbage disposal,” he said to Peter.

Peter saluted. “Yes sir, special agent in charge.”

Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, just call me Chris if you want. You keep saying ‘special agent in charge’ like that and I’m going to clean your clock.”

“It’s grown on me, though,” Peter said. “Do you like carrot cake?”

“No,” Chris said.

“Liar,” Peter said, smirking. “You’re getting a little tic in your eyebrow, did you know that? That’s never a good sign, special agent in charge. The last agent who developed a tic had the decency to wait a week before he ran screaming into the night.”

“Good for him,” Chris said.

“I like the crew I have now,” Peter continued. “Agent Reyes, well, she’s been with me since day one, and honestly I think the reason she’s lasted where the others haven’t is because she thinks I’m hilarious. Agent Boyd is utterly unflappable. You rarely see that in men his age. I believe I could ask him for anything in the universe and he would either just say ‘sure’ or ‘no’ without batting an eyelash. Agent Lahey barely registers on a cosmic scale; I think he missed the day in kindergarten where they handed out personalities. And then there’s you. Do you know what I find so fascinating about you, special agent in charge?”

“I really don’t care,” Chris said.

“You’re still here,” Peter said. “Still standing here, in my apartment, even though you finished fixing my sink a few minutes ago. Are you enjoying our . . . intercourse?”

“There is no _intercourse_ taking place in this apartment,” Chris said through gritted teeth.

“Of course there is! The main definition of intercourse is simply communication between two or more parties. And we are communicating, are we not?”

“I’m about to communicate my foot up your ass,” Chris said.

“Kinky,” Peter replied, smirking. “But then, you’re the one who heard ‘intercourse’ and related it back to sex without any prompting from me.”

“You’re the one who clogged your sink so you could stare at my ass.”

“Touché!” Peter said cheerfully. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“No,” Chris said, and left the apartment before Peter could get any more cute ideas.

“Liar!” Peter shouted after him.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!
> 
> (chapter is moderately NSFW)

 

The day before the trial was set to actually begin, Chris got a call from one of his superiors saying that Peter needed to be moved. “We’ve had an increase in chatter about him,” the man said. “Probably nothing. We don’t have any breach in security that we can find. But we want to be absolutely positive, so we’re moving him tonight. Get your team ready to go.”

“Copy that,” Chris said, and hung up. He quickly briefed the others and sent Erica and Boyd ahead to set up surveillance at the new location he had been given. It was a long-term stay hotel on the other side of town, and they had suites next to each other. Once he had been informed that everything was good to go and their things were packed, he went across the hall and knocked briefly before going inside.

“Well, hello, special agent in charge,” Peter said, smirking from where he was lounging on the sofa. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Chris ignored him. “You’re being moved. You have ten minutes to pack anything you can’t live without.”

Peter casually swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and stood up. “Why?” he asked, and for the first time, he looked completely serious.

Chris wasn’t about to tell him the truth, not when it could spook Peter out of testifying. “You complained about the apartment being a dump, so we found a nicer place for you. Go. Clock’s ticking.”

“Do me a favor and throw some clothes and my toiletries into that suitcase underneath my bed, would you?” Peter asked, as he headed into the kitchen, apparently to pack up things that he felt were more important. Chris nodded and did as asked. He felt a little antsy, but no more than the situation dictated. They were out of the apartment in eight minutes. They took the stairs – Chris was not a fan of elevators as they offered zero tactical options – and met Isaac in the back parking lot, car already warmed up. Chris offered Peter the front seat, and he took it.

“Who talked?” he asked, as Isaac started down the street. It was snowing, and the roads were slippery.

“Nobody talked,” Chris replied.

“Then why am I being moved?” Peter didn’t bother to point out that he didn’t believe Chris’ lie; he didn’t even acknowledge its existence.

“Precaution,” Chris said. Since Peter hadn’t believed the lie, he continued with the truth. “There’s been an increase in chatter. It’s probably just because the trial starts tomorrow, but the DA wants to be absolutely certain that you’re safe.”

“How magnanimous of her,” Peter said, his lips twitching. He didn’t say anything else until they were at the new building. Chris got him upstairs and showed him into the suite. Peter’s gaze flicked around. “There’s barely a kitchen.”

“Make do,” Chris said.

“This is unacceptable,” Peter said, in a tight, angry voice. “I’m going to be here three, maybe four weeks. I need to have a kitchen. Even I can’t read sixteen hours a day. I have to have something to do.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something pithy, but stopped at the last moment. He gave Peter a close, assessing gaze. His jaw was clenched, lips pressed together, little lines around his eyes, fingers worrying at the hem of his shirt. Peter Hale was _frightened_. It took Chris off guard, although he couldn’t say why. He dropped his voice a notch to aim for something soothing. “I’ll talk to the guys upstairs. Maybe we can find a better solution.”

Peter’s jaw went even tighter, but then he let out a slow breath. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

Chris wasn’t thrilled with this place anyway. He didn’t like Peter’s window facing the parking lot, didn’t like only being on the second floor. Anyone with decent upper body strength could grab the balcony and haul themselves up, avoiding the camera they had put on the stairwell. He detested the doors being outside instead of an inner hallway. The place simply didn’t offer anywhere near as much security as he would like. After a moment of thought, he said, “I’m going to have Agent Boyd stay in here with you tonight.”

The moment of Peter’s fear passed, and his lips curved back into that insufferable smirk. “Shouldn’t _you_ stay in here with me? You’re the one responsible for my safety, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Chris said evenly, “which is why I’ll be right next door.”

“I’m going to think you don’t like me if you keep acting like this,” Peter remarked.

“God forbid,” Chris said. But he was already reconsidering. Boyd was good at what he did, but – he was so _young_. The other three agents were barely out of Quantico. Who knew if they’d ever been in an actual firefight? No, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Peter was right. He should be the one who stayed in the man’s suite with him. Letting his personal feelings for Peter color his decision would be unprofessional. “I’ll stay. Let me go talk to the others for a few minutes while you settle in.”

Amazingly, Peter didn’t gloat, although he did continue to smirk. Chris ducked next door and explained his decision to the others. Boyd agreed to call their superiors and voice Chris’ concerns about their current location. Erica offered to go get them a pizza and a movie.

“Make it two movies,” Chris said. “That way I won’t have to actually talk to him.”

Erica hid another laugh. “You got it, boss.”

Chris shook his head and went back to Peter’s suite, reminding himself that as much as Peter was a pain in his ass, he was also a federal witness against a major crime syndicate who had just abruptly been moved, and any sensible person would be scared out of their wits. That was why it was very disconcerting to enter the room and find Peter only wearing his underwear.

“What are you doing?” Chris spit out.

“You said to settle in,” Peter replied innocently. “Whoever turned the heat on in here way overdid it, don’t you think?”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get dressed. _Now_.”

“No,” Peter said.

Chris opened his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“No. I’m not indecent. I’m wearing underwear. I’m allowed to wear nothing but underwear in the privacy of my own home-away-from-home, and I don’t care if that makes you uncomfortable.” Peter gave him a toothy smile. “Deal with it.”

There was a long pause while Chris looked at the ceiling and counted to ten. “Fine. Whatever.” Great, now he sounded like a mulish teenager. “Agent Reyes is getting us a pizza and a movie.”

“You didn’t ask me what kind of pizza I like.”

“I didn’t have all day,” Chris shot back, then added, somewhat begrudgingly, “Besides, Erica said she knew. She’s been on your detail since day one, remember?”

“True,” Peter said. “It’s nice to know that _someone_ pays attention to my needs.”

“What you _need_ is a swift kick in the ass,” Chris growled. He checked the parking lot, then pointed to the interior room. “Go.”

“That’s the bedroom, you know,” Peter said, lips curving in a smile.

“It’s more secure,” Chris said. “You are going to stay in that room. We are going to eat some pizza and watch a movie, and then I am going to come back into this room and sleep on the sofa. Is all of that perfectly clear?”

“Disappointingly so,” Peter said. He behaved himself for ten full minutes while Chris unpacked a few of their things and talked with Isaac about security. Boyd was getting things arranged for them to move again the next day. A second move wasn’t a bad idea anyway. Erica arrived with the pizza and two cheap action movies.

Chris was about to think he had actually gotten Peter to shut up for a while when the man casually said, “Have you ever had sex with a man?” and Chris nearly choked on his pizza. “I only ask because you haven’t rejected my advances under the auspices of heterosexuality. Most men I flirt with, that’s the first thing they say. ‘Sorry, I’m straight’ or ‘fuck off, I’m no fag’, depending on their level of internalized homophobia. Yet, you have not said that, which leads me to think that you are, in fact, sexually interested in men.”

“Let me count the ways that isn’t your business,” Chris said.

Peter just took a slice of pizza and began to cut it with a knife and fork, because _of course he did_. “You’ve been married, haven’t you? Don’t lie. You still wear your ring.”

“Then why do you use past tense?” Chris asked. “Maybe I’m still married.”

“Oh, well, I know you aren’t,” Peter said. “Your wife was killed in a drive-by shooting about two years ago, wasn’t she?”

Chris stopped with the pizza halfway to his mouth. He had to take a breath before he could speak. “How could you possibly know that?”

Peter looked up, surprised. “Of course I know that. I thought you would realize I knew. You have to understand, for the last three years, I’ve lived and breathed Deucalion’s crime syndicate. I know _everything_ there is to know about it. That’s precisely why I’m such a valuable witness, and why you’re sitting in this room right now, protecting me. I know that Victoria Argent was killed in a shooting two years ago, I know she was about your age. ‘Argent’ isn’t exactly a common name.” He took another bite of his pizza. “She could have been your sister, I suppose, but wife just seemed more likely to me. I do apologize, though. For once, I actually wasn’t trying to be a jerk.”

That made Chris huff out a small laugh. “No, it should have occurred to me that you would know. Yes, Victoria was my wife.”

“My condolences for your loss,” Peter said.

“Ever been married?” Chris asked, and took a moment to reflect on how strange it was that they were actually having a civil conversation.

“Lord, no. I’ve had my fair share of lovers, but never been interested in that sort of commitment. But you know, you didn’t answer my question.” Peter reached out and refilled his glass of soda. “Have you, or have you not, ever had sex with a man?”

“Yeah, I didn’t answer that question because it’s still none of your business,” Chris replied.

“So, yes,” Peter said.

Chris shoved a hand through his hair and reminded himself not to throttle his charge. “Yes, I’ve had sex with men, although not since college; I met Victoria my senior year. Yes, I am bisexual. No, I am _not_ interested in having sex with you. So if you could cease and desist the flirting and the innuendo and the blatant staring at my ass, I would appreciate it.”

“How disappointing,” Peter said. But he dropped the subject. “Shall we put the movie in?”

Chris uncharitably thought that he was only saying that because he had grown bored with harassing him, but just said, “Sure,” and went over to the television. He was worried that the silence would become awkward, but Peter commented on the movies with his usual wry wit, which Chris had to admit was pretty funny at times. Peter would actually be a pretty likable guy, if it weren’t for the incessant flirting. And the part where he was a liar by trade, and literally nothing he said could be trusted.

By the time the second movie was over, Peter was yawning. He went in to take a shower. Chris spent a moment or two checking in with the others, sent Isaac to do a quick patrol, and then settled in on the sofa to get some sleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter wasn’t an early riser, and Chris had to wake him when it was time to move again. “Somewhere better, I hope,” Peter said. “Breakfast? I’m starving. I don’t suppose we could get some coffee on the way? They couldn’t be bothered to get me an espresso machine, so I’d really love a caramel macchiato.”

“No,” Chris said, without explanation. He was sure that they could make a coffee trip without issue, but he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. “Get in the car.”

Peter did, putting his seat belt on. “You know, if money is the issue, I’d be happy to pay for my own lodgings. Yours too.”

“That’s not the issue,” Chris said. “It’s about security.”

“Yes, but high-class apartment buildings have far more security than the ones you’ve been putting me in,” Peter pointed out.

Chris sighed. “Okay. Yes. But we have people that we work with. We have to do background checks on staff, make sure that maintenance crews don’t have access, et cetera. It’s a lot more complicated than making sure the door locks.”

“I suppose,” Peter said. “I bow to your superior expertise. At least it won’t be much longer. They’re doing jury selection today, aren’t they?”

“As we speak,” Chris said, nodding. It would still be at least a week before Peter got called to the stand, probably more. He was the most important witness, but by no means the only one. Other small-time criminals were testifying, along with a score of victims, police officers, analysts, and various experts. The charges against Deucalion were vast. It would take a long time to stack up all the evidence. This was a Monday, and Chris didn’t expect Peter to take the stand until late the next week. Then, of course, they would have to wait while the defense made their case, which would take at least another week.

“I suppose this place is somewhat nicer,” Peter said, as Chris pulled into the underground parking lot at the new building. Chris didn’t dignify that with a response. He took Peter up the stairs and to the fifth floor. He was much happier being further off the ground. The hallways were painted dark green and the carpet was brown, but thick and less worn than the other building. “Yes, this will do nicely,” Peter said, once they were inside. There were high, vaunted ceilings, wide windows that overlooked the river that went through downtown, white walls with inoffensive artwork.

“Glad it meets with your approval,” Chris grunted. “Surveillance is all set up. Let us know if you need anything.”

Peter turned to face him as Chris headed out the door. “You don’t like me very much, do you,” he said.

Chris resisted the urge to roll his eyes into the next dimension. “Whatever gave you that idea? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re an enormous pain in my ass.”

“No, that isn’t it,” Peter said, gesturing dismissively. “You were determined not to like me from the moment you arrived. Which might, possibly, have something to do with the way I reacted to you.” When Chris opened his mouth to deny, Peter interrupted, “I’m good at reading people, special agent in charge. I have to be. My life literally depends on it from time to time. You showed up at my door with a stick up your ass and a chip on your shoulder, and I have to admit that I’m curious about its origins. I would think it had something to do with your wife, but you must know I wasn’t involved in any way in her death. If I had been, your superiors never would have given you this detail. So I’d think you would appreciate the fact that I’m trying to put the people who _are_ responsible behind bars.”

“Well, I don’t,” Chris said bluntly. “I’m glad you’re doing it. But you’re a traitor, Hale. A rat. So I don’t like you.”

“Really?” Peter gave him an unimpressed look. “Really, that’s what it is? You despise the men I worked for, but you disdain me for betraying them?”

“Yes,” Chris said. “You don’t have loyalty.”

“Why should I? They certainly wouldn’t return the favor,” Peter replied. “Maybe the world you grew up in, honor was important. But not in my world.”

“Oh, please,” Chris retorted. “You say that like I haven’t read your bio. You were a spoiled rich boy who got everything handed to you on a silver platter. You could have _done_ something with your life, could have made something of yourself, helped other people. But instead you decided to become a petty criminal and con innocent people out of their money. You didn’t grow up in the ghetto, and I’m not sorry for you at all.”

Peter’s face went blank for a moment. “So you think you know everything about me, then,” he said.

“I know that you weaseled your way into a gang and then you weaseled your way out of it,” Chris said. “I know that you’ve ruined dozens of lives and now you’re going to walk away scott free and probably make an enormous profit selling off what’s left of Deucalion’s businesses. I know that everyone else struggles and suffers, but somehow, you always come out on top.”

There was a moment of silence. It felt extremely long to Chris, who went from satisfaction at having vented his anger to intense discomfort at the cold expression on Peter’s face. Then, Peter finally said, “Understood. But if you could please make sure nobody shoots me before I get the chance to testify, I would appreciate it.”

He closed the door in Chris’ face.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris expected that the remainder of the trial would be spent in cold civility, which was frankly what he would have settled for in the first place. He was discomfited at how much he disliked that idea, how he was plagued by the strange urge to apologize to Peter for having insulted him. It wasn’t as if he had said anything untrue, but _something_ in it had obviously made Peter bitterly angry at him.

Peter upended his expectations – as usual – the very next morning, when he got out of bed, indulged in a long stretch, and then looked at the camera and said, “I would like pancakes shaped like hearts, served to me in bed by a very special agent in charge.”

Erica snickered. “He’s asking for you, boss,” she said.

“Send Boyd,” Chris grunted, going back to cleaning and reassembling his gun. He was surprised that Peter had gone right back to flirting with him, and further discomfited at how _relieved_ he was. That was not the emotion that he should be feeling.

Peter got neither pancakes, nor hearts, nor breakfast in bed. But Chris did take another grocery list from him, with a heavy sigh. The DA, Lydia Martin, called to check in on Peter and let them know that she felt jury selection had gone very well. They would be calling their first witness shortly. She would keep them posted of any further developments.

They settled back into their groove over the course of several long, boring days. Peter prowled around his new apartment, getting used to his surroundings. When Chris settled down to take his eight PM shift two days after they moved in, the other man was in the bedroom, reading. Chris sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. Erica and Isaac were off shift; Boyd was around, but not in the living room with Chris.

After about fifteen minutes, Peter got off the bed and headed into the living room. He settled down in front of the television. Chris didn’t pay much notice. Peter moved around a lot, restless as a man under house arrest was wont to be. He stayed where he was, gaze flicking over each of the surveillance monitors in turn. Whatever Peter was watching, the volume was low enough that it didn’t –

“Mmmm,” Peter said, and Chris’ gaze jerked back to that monitor to see Peter sprawled out on the sofa attractively, one hand rubbing against his crotch.

Chris’ cheeks flamed pink, but most of the blood headed south. He forced his gaze away. Peter had been in protective custody for months; he couldn’t exactly blame the man for needing to rub one out (although it would have been nice if he could have waited until he was in a dark bedroom or the shower). It wasn’t as if Peter knew that Chris was the one –

“Mmm, Chris,” Peter purred, and Chris nearly fell out of his chair. He snatched up the headphones and hastily plugged them in before any of the junior agents could overhear and start asking questions. “I really wish it was _your_ hand in my pants,” Peter added, as he undid the button and zipper. Chris stared at the screen, all other monitors forgotten. “You look like the type that would be _amazing_ in bed. All that strength and confidence. I bet you have an enormous cock. What I wouldn’t give to get my mouth on it – ”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Chris hissed at the monitors, as if Peter could hear him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you – sadistic little – ”

Peter moaned loudly, and Chris could feel his own dick stiffen in response. He was _gorgeous_ , all loose-limbed and wanton, spread out on the sofa like a porno, just waiting for someone – for _Chris_ – to come in and fuck him. “I bet you like it rough,” Peter panted. “I’d like that. You could just hold me down and fuck me. That’s what – ”

Chris couldn’t handle it any longer. He yanked the headphones off and shouted, “Boyd! I need you to come take over!”

The junior agent appeared a moment later with a questioning expression on his face. Chris had made it clear to all of them early on that he valued security over their schedule. If anyone found themselves nodding off or needed a bathroom break or even just had to get away from the monitors for a few minutes, all they had to do was call whoever else was on shift.

Each of the younger agents had done it several times, usually as a result of poor planning (too much coffee resulting in extra bathroom trips), but this was the first time he had needed to do it. He gestured to the monitors and said to Boyd, “Not a word. Text me when he’s done.”

Boyd took in Peter’s body on the couch and his eyes went momentarily wide before he said, “Yup. No problem,” and sat down.

Chris grabbed his phone and stormed out of the apartment. He took the stairs down to the ground floor and went out the stairwell door, enjoying the crisp night air. He took several deep breaths, slowly, in and out, and thought about unattractive things until his hard-on started to subside. It was becoming rapidly clear that he was going to have to talk to Peter about this. It was harassment. It wasn’t acceptable. He didn’t care if the man wanted to flirt with him or make suggestive comments, but there were limits, and he didn’t give a shit if Peter said he wouldn’t testify. If he tried that, Chris would put him in a chokehold and drag him up onto the stand.

He was just starting to regain his equilibrium when his phone rang. He looked down, expecting it to be Boyd, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was Director Stilinski. He answered hoping his voice was even. “Argent.”

“All quiet on the Western front?” Stilinski asked.

“Yeah,” Chris said, because he sure as hell wasn’t about to bother his boss with Peter’s personality disorder. “What’s up?”

“Look, I’ve been talking to the DA and the people over at witness protection,” Stilinski said. “They’re still concerned that there’s a breach. They want to ramp up security.”

Chris felt his stomach tighten. “So, someone in the apartment with Peter at all times,” he said.

“Yeah. I asked about moving him again, but they don’t want to if they don’t have to, if only because they don’t want him alerted to the problem.”

“Like putting one of us in his apartment at all times won’t do that,” Chris said, but then sighed and continued, “I can make it work.”

“Okay. Is he giving you a hard time?”

A _very_ hard time, the juvenile part of Chris’ mind responded, but he didn’t make the pun out loud. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, which was an even _worse_ pun.

Fortunately, Stilinski didn’t notice. “Good. Stay in touch.”

Chris shook his head and ended the call. He saw he had gotten a text from Boyd that said ‘all clear’, so he headed back up the stairs, pondering how he was going to handle this. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to go into Peter’s apartment and say he was going to stay the night. If they were going to do this long-term, it wouldn’t have to be him all the time. But he _did_ have to deliver the news himself, if only because if he avoided Peter, it would open him up to more mockery.

So when he got back up to the apartment, he explained things to Boyd, who said he would stay on the monitors and tell Erica and Isaac what was going on. They didn’t say anything about Peter’s performance, and Chris was intensely glad that it had been Boyd on duty with him.

He went across the hall and unlocked the door, going in without knocking. Peter looked up from the sofa. He was only wearing a bathrobe now, and a slow, wicked smile curved his face. “Do you always come when called?” he asked.

Chris ignored him. “The people upstairs are still concerned about a security breach,” he said. “They want one of us with you at all times.”

“How convenient for you,” Peter said, smirking.

“That is _not_ what I would call it,” Chris growled.

Peter got off the sofa and indulged in a luxurious stretch. “Well, I was thinking about heading to bed in any case. If you’d care to join me?”

“I’ll be staying on the sofa,” Chris said.

“Aren’t you supposed to have eyes on me at all times?” Peter asked.

“Boyd is on surveillance right now. My job is to shoot anyone who tries to break down the door. Go to bed if you want to go to bed. I’ll be fine out here.”

Peter wasn’t the least bit slowed by Chris’ sour expression. In fact, his charming smile just grew wider. “Well, you are responsible for my safety,” he said. “I feel like I would be _much_ safer if you stayed in the bedroom with me. And if I don’t feel safe, I don’t know that I’ll be able to testify at court, you know . . .”

Chris’ temper abruptly snapped. He grabbed Peter by the shoulder and shoved him up against the wall. “Listen to me, you little prick,” he snarled. “I’ve put up with your bullshit long enough. You cannot and you _will not_ insinuate that your continued cooperation with this trial hinges in any way on my willingness to sleep with you. Or, for that matter, my willingness to continue to tolerate your sexual harassment. You’re right; I _am_ responsible for your safety. Which means that after two minutes on my phone, I could have you removed from this generous safe house and put in a windowless room for the remainder of the trial. So next time you feel the urge to make some smartass comment, remember that.”

Peter lifted his hands in surrender and endured Chris’ diatribe with good nature. “I do apologize,” he said smoothly, when Chris let him go. “I’m just incredibly bored, you know. I’ve been under house arrest for almost two months now.” After a beat, he added, “And you are devastatingly hot when you’re pissed off.”

“God damn it, Hale, what did I _just say_ ,” Chris asked, resisting the urge to bang his head into the wall.

“Sorry, sorry,” Peter said, chuckling. “I can’t help myself when I see a good opening.”

“I swear to God, if that turns into another innuendo – ”

“Despite the temptation, no.” Peter stepped away as Chris let him go, and straightened his robe. “I’ve been awful to you in my attempts to entertain myself; I admit it. Let me apologize and make you dinner.”

“So you can continue to harass me? That sounds like the opposite of an apology, Hale.”

Peter raised his hand and said, “No innuendo. Just dinner. I solemnly swear.”

Chris grunted. “Save it for court, Hale.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Peter said. Then his smile slipped away. “They must be very concerned, if they want you in the apartment with me.”

“Yes, they are,” Chris said, and didn’t elaborate. He saw Peter’s brow furrow slightly, and added, “Nobody will get to you while I’m here.”

Peter gave another mock shiver. “If you want me to stop flirting with you, you really shouldn’t encourage me by saying things that turn me on like that.”

Chris groaned. “Every time I try to reassure you – ”

“Well, I’m quite reassured,” Peter said. He yawned again. “Dinner tomorrow. It’s a date.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Two weeks of cereal, canned soup, and frozen pizza had just about numbed Chris’ palate. It wasn’t as if he was a gourmet eater most of the time, but at least he was capable of grilling some hamburgers or making a casserole. He had a daughter; after Victoria had died, he had been responsible for making sure she got at least some nutrients in her diet.

Whatever Peter was making smelled amazing, and Chris sat on the sofa, feeling tense and annoyed. After a brief conference with the others, they had decided that Chris would stay with Peter full-time. If he didn’t, for one thing, Peter would constantly be making remarks about it. But more importantly, from a security standpoint, Chris didn’t want all of them going back and forth across the hallway all the time. People would start to notice.

“Dinner’s ready,” Peter called from the kitchen. Chris sighed and got up, heading into the kitchen. It was some Italian thing he had never even heard of, and he hated it for smelling so delicious. “Wine?” Peter asked innocently.

“I’m on duty,” Chris said, giving him a hard stare.

“It’s an excellent vintage,” Peter told him.

“I’m. On. Duty.”

“I suppose I’ll drink enough for both of us, then,” Peter said, filling his glass. He took Chris’ glass and filled it with water instead. “So, if we could have some privacy,” Peter said, setting the plates on the table. “Erica, I know that you still have to watch the cameras, but if you could turn the sound off, I would appreciate it,” he added, addressing the camera in the corner of the room.

“All right, that’s my first question,” Chris said, trying not to scowl, sitting in the chair that Peter indicated. “How the _hell_ do you always know who’s the one on surveillance? Specifically how did you always know when it was me?”

Peter looked at him with a somewhat surprised expression, and his mouth curved into a smile. “Logic,” he said. “I told you that I’m good at reading people. Would you like to hear my assessment of you, Chris?”

“I doubt it,” Chris muttered.

“It does help that Erica mentioned a while back that she was glad she was on two-hour shifts, because the four-hour shifts melted her brain,” Peter said. He started moving dishes to the table and dishing up the food as he spoke. “So. There are four of you, and twenty-four hours in a day, which means each of you has six hours total surveillance duty. Cut that into three separate shifts throughout the day. You have seniority, so you would have had your pick of the shifts. That means you would have avoided a night shift. However, you’re not an unfair man, which means you would have chosen at least one undesirable shift, which, given the age of your compatriots I guessed would be the first morning shift: six AM to eight AM. You’re also anal retentive, so you would have wanted your shifts spread out as evenly as possible. That means you took the last shift before the night shifts started, which I judged to be eight PM to ten PM. Which gives you one afternoon shift, probably either twelve to two, or two to four. Am I right?”

“Jesus,” Chris said. It was uncomfortable to know exactly how well Peter had nailed down his personality. “You couldn’t be sure, though. Especially not of the one in the middle.”

“Well, no,” Peter agreed. “But whoever was on surveillance couldn’t be the one responsible for answering my demands, which is why I had a tendency to spread them out throughout the day, so I knew who was and wasn’t on shift at specific times.” He grinned that toothy grin. “I made a spreadsheet. Would you like to see it?”

“Absolutely not,” Chris said. “All this so you could hit on me?”

Peter scoffed. “No. I did it because I was bored. I did it with the agents before you, too. How do _you_ pass the time when you’re under house arrest?”

“Not by psychoanalyzing my security detail and making spreadsheets about it, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, well,” Peter said, and then sing-songed, “you’re not me.”

“Thank God for that.”

Peter’s smile didn’t fade even the slightest. “So. Now that we are, hopefully, no longer being overheard, I want to make a few things clear.” He twirled his fork in his linguini. “I have absolutely every intention of testifying. You could have kept me in an underground cave for the month before the trial and I still would have testified. Nothing, short of a bullet, is going to stop me from testifying. So, I apologize for my behavior. I had to have _something_ to do.”

Chris sighed. “Okay. Good to know. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“You’re not asking why I’m so vehement,” Peter said.

“I suppose the fact that I assumed ‘because it was your civic duty’ makes me extremely naïve.”

Peter laughed. “I don’t think so. I just think that makes you . . . you. But I am not you, alas, and I have my reasons. And I’d like to clear them up, because you think I’m a traitor, and that colors your opinion of me, so I would like to tell you that I’m not one.”

“Oh, really,” Chris said. He started eating so he didn’t have to look at Peter. The food was delicious. He tried not to scowl.

“No. Being a ‘traitor’ implies that I changed loyalties. I did not. I always intended to further Deucalion’s demise. It’s why I joined his gang.” Peter still hadn’t started eating. “Six years ago, Deucalion had a problem with a business rival of his. He decided to handle this by threatening the man’s daughter, who was nineteen. The business rival did not comply, so Deucalion killed her. In his attempt to make it look like an accident, he used the method of burning down the homeless shelter where she was volunteering. Eleven people died, including my sister and my boyfriend. Talia actually owned the place, and Oliver was volunteering there as well. That’s actually how I met him. Talia introduced us.”

“Jesus,” Chris said, setting his fork down.

“I became, shall we say, mildly obsessed with finding the responsible parties,” Peter said, as if Chris hadn’t spoken. “I did some digging, figured out Deucalion was the one who had commissioned the crime, so I decided to get close to him and enact my revenge. To do that, I would need to be a criminal, so that’s what I became. I’ve spent the last six years of my life working my way towards him. About two years ago, I got into his gang. I even met him several times, but he was never alone, and although I do want revenge very badly, I have no interest in dying in my quest for it. So murdering him in front of his bodyguards seemed like a bad idea. I continued to gather data on his organization, figure out who could and couldn’t be trusted, what criminal pies he had fingers in, et cetera. Then, before I could make any final plans, you and your boys came in, broke up the syndicate, and arrested him.”

Peter took a long drink of his wine. “Now, you’ve been operating under the assumption that I was caught, and rolled on Deucalion, and made a deal. That’s actually not correct. You can ask the DA about it, if you like. I went to her and _offered_ my testimony. Yes, they gave me immunity, and I would have been a fool not to take it. I’ve broken half the laws in the book in my efforts to insinuate myself close to him. But I also gathered entire reams of information that could serve to put him behind bars. I figured that I might as well make use of them.”

“Yeah, that . . . does make sense,” Chris said.

“So you see, I’m not _quite_ as bad as you think I am,” Peter continued. “Once Deucalion is in prison, his death will be relatively easy to arrange,” he added, and Chris choked on his water. “Pay off some lifer to shank him, or even a guard, if it came down to it.”

“Jesus, Peter, don’t tell me that!” Chris said. “Now I have to go tell my superiors – ”

“No, you don’t,” Peter said dismissively.

Chris glowered at him. “The hell I don’t! If Deucalion turns up dead in prison, they _will_ track it back to you, and – ”

“Please,” Peter said, with another scoffing noise. “I’d be much too careful for that. But in any case, no, you won’t go tell anyone, because you want Deucalion dead just as badly as I do. He’s responsible for the death of your wife.”

“I believe in justice,” Chris said.

“And what is justice, Chris?” Peter asked. “Do you believe Deucalion is going to suffer in prison? That is not what’s going to happen. He’s going to make deals, and offer bribes, and intimidate others into getting the best of everything. And that’s if he doesn’t manage to escape, either legally or illegally. No, thank you. Deucalion is much too dangerous to be out on the streets, and the fact that California doesn’t have the death penalty is a problem I can’t fix. So I’ll just have to take matters into my hands. Or at least into my own wallet.”

“Jesus, Peter,” Chris said, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“I’m not asking you to do it yourself,” Peter said. “Hell, I’m not even asking you not to say anything. But I know you won’t. Because Deucalion is a monster, and he needs to be stopped.” When Chris just sat there, glowering, he waved this aside and said, “Wrestle with the moral dilemma some other time. Eat the food.”

Chris sighed and started eating again. “So are you going to stop hitting on me now?”

Peter laughed. “Lord, no! This is the most fun I’ve had in months.”

It took effort to bite back the scowl. “I don’t see what the point is. Why bother? If it’s just because it irritates me – ”

“Has it occurred to you,” Peter interrupted, “that perhaps I am actually quite attracted to you and would very much enjoy having sex with you if you indicated return interest?”

“Of course it – ” Chris started, but then realized no, it actually hadn’t. He had been operating under the assumption that Peter only did this to get under his skin. “Look, I don’t do casual,” he said. “And so there’s no point in you pursuing me. Okay?”

“I can be serious,” Peter said.

“Putting aside how unlikely I find that, it still wouldn’t matter,” Chris said. “In two, three weeks, you’re going to be in witness protection. They’ll give you a new identity and tuck you away somewhere large enough to hide you, but obscure enough that nobody will look for you there, like Scranton or Des Moines, and we’ll never see each other again.”

Peter shrugged. “All the more reason to make the most of the time we have, isn’t it?”

“Peter,” Chris said, “it’s not going to happen. I mean, if only because, might I remind you, you’re under twenty-four hour surveillance by three other agents. And no, I won’t disconnect the cameras or sneak over here when I’m the one on surveillance duty because that would put you at risk. There are a dozen good reasons why I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“I notice that none of these reasons are ‘because I don’t want to’,” Peter remarked.

Chris didn’t dignify that with a reply.

“I do like you, you know,” Peter said. “Most of the other agents I tormented, I never would have told them any of this. But I’d rather keep you.”

“There will be no ‘keeping’ of me,” Chris growled.

“I haven’t had anyone in my life in a long time,” Peter said. “Not since Oliver died.”

“God damn it, you can’t just _say_ things like that – ”

“It’s true, though. I’ve led a very lonely life.” Peter gave him a charming smile. “Perhaps you would just let me – pretend. For a few weeks. It would be nice. You’re staying here with me anyway.”

Chris rubbed a hand over his face and said, “Look, if you want to make me dinner and call me sweetheart until the trial is over, I guess I can’t fucking stop you. As long as you understand that you’re deluding yourself.”

“Fair enough. Have you had sex since your wife died?”

Chris nearly choked again. “I am not answering that question.”

“So, no.”

“Have you had sex since your boyfriend died?”

“Oh, sure. Lots of it,” Peter remarked airily.

“Of course you have.”

“There _will_ be an opportunity, you know,” Peter said, smirking. “Once I’ve testified, killing me would be a moot point. But we’ll still have a week or two of trial while the defense makes their case and then the jury deliberates. I’ll still have the security detail, of course, but I’m fairly sure that disabling the camera in my bedroom for a couple hours won’t be a problem.”

Chris just glowered at him.

“Besides,” Peter continued, “once I’ve testified, your superiors really don’t have the incentive to keep me alive anymore. I will have done what they needed me to do. So if I want to risk my own life at that point by having amazing sex with the overwhelmingly attractive special agent in charge who runs my security detail, that’s really nobody’s business but my own.”

“And mine,” Chris reminded him. “You know, what with my job being on the line and all.”

“I’d make it worth your while,” Peter said, winking at him.

“I’ll just bet,” Chris muttered. “Again, if you’d like to delude yourself, feel free.”

Peter’s mouth curved into that wicked smile. “Fine by me. I’ll just be lying in bed every night, thinking of you, _deluding_ myself.”

Chris nearly choked on his linguini, and tried not to think about that. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?” he asked, and Peter just laughed.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

 

The first thing Chris needed, if he was going to have to stay in an apartment with Peter Hale, was a steady supply of coffee. The apartment he had been using with the other agents had a coffee maker, but Peter’s didn’t. He preferred tea, and although he also liked an occasional latte or cappuccino, nobody in the department was springing to buy him a machine that could make those.

Chris dispatched Isaac to the store to buy a coffee maker. “Just get the least expensive, plainest one they have,” he said. “I’ll donate it to the Good Will or something once I’ve gotten out of this hellhole.”

The smell of the coffee woke Peter the next morning. He shambled out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of loose flannel pants and with the most _ridiculously_ sexy bed hair that Chris had ever seen. “Chris Argent, you shouldn’t have,” he said, coming into the kitchen.

“I didn’t,” Chris said. “It’s just a coffee maker. Nothing fancy.”

“Oh.” Peter pouted, then said, “Well, I suppose if I dump enough milk and sugar in it, it might become something acceptable for a human to consume.”

“Whatever you say,” Chris said. “I drink mine black.”

“Of course you do,” Peter said. “Breakfast? I make excellent French toast.”

“I ate already,” Chris said.

Peter’s lips quirked into an amused smile. “Somehow I’m not surprised. So what shall we do today? I’ve been thinking about the possibilities of us both being stuck in here together. We could have a bubble bath. I could make fondue, _so_ many hours of fun. We could paint each other’s nails . . .”

“I was thinking,” Chris interrupted, “that you would go over there and read one of your books, and I would stay over here and read one of mine, and then, if you actually behave yourself for a few hours, we can play some cards or do a puzzle or something like that.”

“Strip poker?” Peter asked innocently.

“To play that, you’d have to actually put some clothes _on_ , which you seem particularly averse to,” Chris said dryly, and left the kitchen.

It was surprisingly non-horrific. Peter made his breakfast and then curled up in one of the armchairs with a book. He lasted an entire hour before he started making suggestive comments. Chris rewarded him for his self-restraint by producing a book of crossword puzzles. Peter was good at them, _scary_ good, but Chris was no slouch. They worked through a few of those and played gin rummy for a while.

Chris vetoed the idea of fondue, but he _did_ let Peter dispatch Boyd with another ridiculous grocery list so he could teach him how to make crepes. He thought Allison might enjoy them. They watched a movie and Peter discovered that Chris had never seen the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and immediately insisted that they get them.

“The extended editions, mind you,” he said to Erica, who was chewing gum and laughing at them. “Not theatrical.”

Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “That might be a little pricy – ”

“No worries, Boyd says he owns them,” Erica said, still laughing.

So Chris spent the entire next day on the sofa. He was skeptical at first, but got drawn into it despite himself. “I suppose they were okay,” he said to Peter at the end, and Peter just smirked at him.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Another few days passed, and Chris was surprised almost every hour at how much he wasn’t hating it. He hadn’t realized exactly how lonely he had gotten after Allison had left for college the previous year. It was nice to have someone else around. Peter taught him how to cook a few things, Chris taught him how to fix things around the house. They played cards and did puzzles, went through a few books of word games and Sudoku.

Chris found that he didn’t mind Peter’s over-the-top flirting now that he knew the man was actually interested in him, and not doing it just to piss him off. He wasn’t sure why it made a difference, but it did. He didn’t rise to his baiting, mostly because he didn’t want the others chortling over it, but simply ignored it like it wasn’t happening. That seemed to amuse Peter more than anything else.

He was chuckling over a text that Allison had sent him when he suddenly felt Peter leaning over his shoulder, the other man’s chest cozied up against Chris’ back. “I thought we had a rule about you maintaining your distance,” Chris said, although he didn’t make any effort to pull away. That wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Well, as you know, I’m a criminal,” Peter said. “I break rules. What are you laughing about?”

Against his better judgment, Chris said, “Allison sent me a picture of a sign someone had posted in her dorm.”

“Mm hm.” Peter leaned over to look at the picture. “Your daughter’s quite pretty.”

“Yes, I know,” Chris said. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel the immediate urge to pull the phone away so Peter couldn’t look at it. He often felt that way when people commented on Allison. He was protective of her – overprotective, according to Allison – but more than that, he didn’t like to share her. The fact that he didn’t mind Peter looking at the photographs – even reaching over him to swipe through the album – didn’t bode well for him.

They wound up spending several minutes flipping through the photos, while he told Peter about how proud he was of Allison for getting into Columbia, how she was one of those people who was going to change the world someday. Peter looked vaguely amused throughout his monologue, but didn’t interrupt him. Instead, the phone did, signaling an incoming call. Chris glanced at it and saw that it was Stilinski, so he picked up. “Argent.”

“Chris,” Stilinski said. “Just a quick update for you. You know that Peter’s testifying the day after tomorrow, so this is basically Deucalion’s last chance to take a shot at him. From the chatter on the streets, it seems like a professional’s been called in – someone called the Jaguar. I want double shifts until after Peter’s done testifying. Don’t take your eyes off him.”

“Copy that,” Chris said, and hung up. To Peter, he added, “I have to coordinate a few things with the others,” but he decided to do it by text, so Peter wouldn’t overhear and get more worried than was necessary. He texted Erica to let her know the details.

He still wasn’t that good at texting, so he got a little absorbed in it, and didn’t notice when Peter again looked over his shoulder. He was only alerted to that when Peter sucked in a breath and pulled away. “The Jaguar,” he said. “Are they sure?”

Chris gave him an irritated look. “That’s the chatter. It’s impossible to sure.”

Peter’s jaw set and he took a few steps away before he abruptly said, “We need to leave.”

Chris frowned and looked over. “We’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “This is the safest place we could be.”

“No, it isn’t,” Peter said. “Listen to me, Chris, the Jaguar is a professional. They don’t call her in unless they know where the target is. There’s no way they would be talking about her if she didn’t know exactly where I am. You have no idea what she looks like – neither do I – so she can waltz right through all your fancy cameras – ”

“She’d still have to take the elevator to get up to this floor, and we’ll see her as soon as she exits,” Chris said. “We know all the tenants of this floor, we memorized all their faces days ago. Anyone who gets – ”

“No,” Peter said. “No, that’s not good enough. I’m not going to sit here and wait to get killed. We need to leave, right now.”

“God damn it, Peter – ”

“You don’t understand this,” Peter said urgently. “I don’t know the Jaguar, I’ve never seen her face, but I know her reputation. She’s the best. The _only_ way I’m going to survive tonight is if I’m not here for her to kill me. And if you care about your three little junior agents there, you’ll tell them to get the hell out of dodge, too.”

“I can’t just – ”

“Yes, you can,” Peter said. “You have procedures for your cover being blown, for your location being compromised. I know that you do. And trust me, Chris, they _don’t_ call the Jaguar in to find people. They call her in to kill people. It’s all she does.”

Chris stared at him, and in that moment, he believed him. He punched the button to call Erica instead of texting her. “We’re compromised,” he said. “Go to the omega plan. I’ll take charge of Peter.”

“Copy that,” Erica said, suddenly crisp and professional, and hung up.

Chris pointed to Peter and said, “Go put your vest on,” and Peter nodded, pale but still calm. He grabbed the Kevlar vest that they had obtained for his transportation to the courthouse, while Chris donned his own gear. Two minutes later, they were out of the apartment. Chris headed to the stairwell. He opened the door and did a quick cover with his gun before determining that it was empty. “Let’s go,” he said.

Peter was good at staying behind him, like a second shadow that hung up on his back. But as soon as they exited the building, Chris waved for Peter to walk beside him. “Try to look normal,” he said.

“Oh, very well,” Peter said, and slid an arm around Chris’ waist.

Chris took a moment to marvel on the fact that Peter was capable of hitting on him even when fleeing for his life, then decided it was a good idea. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulled the younger man’s body against his, heading down the narrow alley to the main street. Peter didn’t ask where they were going, or why they weren’t using the car. He seemed to have faith that Chris knew what he was doing. Which was, to be fair, absolutely correct.

The small street that the apartment complex was on broke off from a main thoroughfare with several businesses. Chris glanced around and saw what he wanted: two or three taxis loitering on a corner. He got in the one in the middle and pulled Peter in beside him.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

“The, uh, the Holiday Inn, off exit four,” Chris said, and the driver pulled out into traffic. They drove in silence for several minutes. Peter arched his eyebrows at Chris, as if to ask if they were actually going to a Holiday Inn, but didn’t voice his questions. Chris waited until they had gone a couple stops south on the highway before he suddenly said, “Oh, wait, the Holiday Inn is where I stayed _last_ time I was in town. Sorry. It’s actually that Doubletree hotel on the north side of town. Exit ten, I think. Sorry again.”

“Hey, no skin off my nose, buddy,” the driver said, flicking his turn signal to get off the highway.

Peter gave Chris a curved little smile as if to say that he was impressed with his subterfuge. Chris just rolled his eyes. It took about twenty minutes to reach the Doubletree. He paid in cash, thanked the driver, and got out with Peter behind him. Then he waited a beat, until that taxi had driven away. The Doubletree always had a few taxis outside because it was close to the airport. He headed for a different one.

“Really?” Peter asked.

“You want the Jaguar to find you?” Chris countered.

“Not particularly,” Peter said, and Chris pointed to the taxi. He got in without further protest.

“1245 East Beech Street,” Chris said to the driver. “It’s the corner of Beech and Twelfth Street.”

“Okay,” the driver said, and pulled out of the hotel. They drove for about another fifteen minutes to a self-storage place. “You need me to wait for you?”

“No, we’ve got some organizing to do. I’ll call when I’m ready for a pick-up,” Chris said and paid him. He waited until he was gone again before heading for one of the buildings marked ‘climate controlled’. Peter watched in interest as he punched a code outside the door and headed inside.

“Is this some sort of secret FBI base?” he asked.

“No,” Chris said, “it’s Uncle Bob’s Storage. Didn’t you see the sign?”

Peter snorted. “Okay. Then why are we here?”

“This,” Chris said, stopping beside one of the storage units and pulling out a set of keys, “is one of our backup units. Or, as they’re more commonly known, the FUBAR units. Where we go to ground when we believe we’re compromised. There are a couple around the city.” He unlocked the padlock and shoved the door up.

“I see,” Peter said, stepping inside. Chris glanced around as well. He had never actually been inside one of the FUBAR units. It was about the size of a standard garage, with the barest of amenities: a bed, a sink and toilet, a battery-powered lantern that he switched on before pulling the unit’s door back down. Unlike most storage units, this one was able to lock from the inside, and he secured the padlock while Peter looked around. “Cozy,” Peter said. “This’ll teach me to complain about the garbage disposal.”

“I know it’s not optimal,” Chris said, “but like I said, they’re rarely used.”

“Well, you _did_ warn me that you could put me in a windowless room,” Peter remarked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Will we be here until the trial is over?”

“I’m not sure,” Chris said. “They’re rarely used for more than an overnight. The general idea is to use them to secure an asset until we can lock down whatever the problem is. There must be a security breach somewhere. But finding it isn’t my job. I get to stay here with you. Lucky me, right?”

“Absolutely,” Peter said.

“Now I have to check in with my superiors,” Chris said.

Peter grimaced. “Even when you suspect a leak? Isn’t that a risk?”

“Everything’s a risk at this point,” Chris said, “but if Stilinski was the leak, checking in wouldn’t make a difference. He knows the omega plan; he knows where we are. So yeah, I need to check in with him.” He walked over to a small box in the corner and found what he was looking for: a pre-paid cell phone. He had left his own in the apartment, so it couldn’t be traced. He dialed Director Stilinski’s number. “This is Argent.”

“Chris, what the hell happened?” Stilinski demanded.

“Peter had inside intelligence about the Jaguar,” Chris said. “According to him, she’s only called in once the target has been located. There’s got to be a security breach somewhere. I went to omega and took charge of Hale. Have the others reported in?”

“Yeah,” Stilinski said, and Chris was relieved. “Okay. Stay put. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Copy that,” Chris said, and hung up. He went back to the boxes. “Hungry? We’ve got the finest in cold canned ravioli.”

“How could I resist that?” Peter asked, amused. But he was strangely serious as Chris abandoned the box of necessities in disgust and sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Thank you. For believing me.”

Chris grunted. “Wasn’t about to wait and see if you were right and then listen to you bitching if the Jaguar showed up at the apartment.”

Peter barked out a short laugh. “Too true. I can guarantee you that my last words on earth are going to be ‘I told you so’, and I don’t even know how or when I’m going to die. But it’s definitely going to be because someone didn’t listen to me.”

“Sure,” Chris said, but he bumped his shoulder against Peter’s. It occurred to him in that moment that they were finally away from the cameras. Absolutely nobody could see them. It seemed to occur to Peter, too, because he gave Chris that smirk and arched eyebrow, then leaned in. He stopped short of actually kissing Chris, though, about an inch, so Chris could feel Peter’s breath on his lips. He put his fingers over Peter’s mouth and pushed him back. “No.”

“Really?” Peter asked. “You honestly have no idea how to have fun.”

“There is an assassin after you and a security breach that conceivably reaches high enough that she could find us here,” Chris said. “I’m not going to die because she catches me with my pants around my ankles, thank you very much.”

“Fair enough!” Peter said. “Though we could just make out.”

“What are you, a tenth grader?” Chris asked, and Peter just gave a remorseless little shrug. Chris pointed to the other side of the small room and said, “Stay over there. Don’t make me draw a line down the center of the room.”

“And you’re accusing me of being juvenile?” Peter said, but he did as he was told.

Minutes trickled by. There was a small stack of books in amongst the paraphernalia, and Peter leafed through them until he found something he considered moderately acceptable. Chris wasn’t in the mood to read. He settled down with his back against the wall closest to the door, while Peter stretched out on the narrow cot. It wasn’t big enough for two, so Chris was looking forward to a night on the floor. That was fine. He didn’t plan on sleeping anyway. He took his gun out and rested it on his lap, closing his eyes to focus on any noise from outside.

About an hour had passed before Peter closed the book and put it away. “Can I ask you something?”

“If I said no, would it stop you?” Chris asked, amused.

“Do you wish we had met under different circumstances?”

Chris frowned and thought about it for a minute. “You mean, circumstances under which I could have had sex with you?” he asked.

Peter waved this away. “Any different circumstances. It’s a broad question.”

“Well,” Chris said, “if those circumstances were after you became a criminal, but before you became a federal witness, I wouldn’t have given you the time of day. So no to that. And if they were before you became a criminal, I would have been happily married to Victoria. So also no to that.”

“Lord, you have no imagination,” Peter said.

Chris rolled his eyes. “I like the way we met just fine, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

“Even though I’ve driven you slightly around the bend?”

“You would’ve done that no matter how we met,” Chris replied with a snort.

Peter gave that wicked little grin. “True,” he said. “I – ”

Chris held up a hand, cutting his words off. He was on his feet mere moments later, his gun in one hand as he half-turned towards the door. “Do you hear – ” he started, before he recognized the sound that had gotten his attention, a low beeping. “Get down!” he shouted, and leapt across the room. Peter had half-risen to his feet; Chris’ tackle took him over the bed and onto the floor. Moments later, there was a thunderous noise as an explosion went off at their door. It practically shredded the door itself, blowing it inwards.

The bed was knocked over and on top of them, which was no bad thing, as the thin mattress shielded them from the worst of the explosion. Chris was in a crouch before the smoke cleared, checking on Peter, who was dazed but conscious. “Stay down,” he hissed, and Peter had no inclination to argue.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” a cheerful woman’s voice said from the doorway, and everything inside Chris tied itself into a giant knot.

He was so stunned that it didn’t occur to him that maybe, just maybe, he should shut the hell up. “Kate?” he asked incredulously. “Is that you?”

There was a brief pause. “Chris?” the voice responded, and Chris poked his head up over the mattress cautiously. “Well, hey!” the woman said. “Small world!”

“Who’s that?” Peter asked groggily.

“My – my sister, I haven’t seen her in years, she – Kate, what the hell are you doing here?” Chris asked.

“Uh, well, my current plan is to shoot Peter Hale until he’s dead,” Kate said, “and then go out for some waffles. You want to join me? Or would you rather stay here?”

“You – you’re the Jaguar,” Chris said. He felt slow and stupid, but in the general scheme of things, he thought he could probably be forgiven for taking an extra minute to come to that conclusion. “Jesus Christ, Kate. Put the gun down.”

Kate huffed out a sigh. “So you’d rather stay. Okay. Where do you want it? Leg? Leg is good. I mean, unless I hit your femoral artery, but I’m sure you know how to do a tourniquet. I mean, I could do your arm, but you’d probably rather look like you tried, right? Or I guess you could just feign unconsciousness like the blast knocked you out – ”

“Kate,” Chris said, through clenched teeth, “I’m _not_ going to let you murder Peter Hale and walk away, to get waffles or anything else.”

“Chris. Come on. I could shoot him through that flimsy mattress right now and you couldn’t stop me. I’m trying to be nice, here.”

Chris slowly stood up, holding his hands up so she could see that he wasn’t pointing his gun at anything. “You work for Deucalion?” he asked, stalling for time. It was possible someone had heard the explosion, would call 911, but it was unlikely. It was late at night, and he doubted anyone was still at the storage facility.

“Pssh, no,” Kate scoffed. “I took a contract, that’s all.”

“Deucalion killed my wife,” Chris said, through clenched teeth.

“That was an accident, you know,” Kate said. “I mean, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Chris asked.

“Well, yeah,” Kate said. “I mean, a lack of malicious intent. Usually pretty important.”

“Are you ser – ” Chris started, and then Peter apparently decided he was done waiting for Kate to shoot him. He jerked upright and used the only weapon he had at his disposal: the paperback book he had been reading. He threw it at her as hard as she could. In the dim light, she couldn’t tell what it was, and she jerked to the side. Chris had his gun up and had fired two shots before she could recover. One of them hit her in the chest and she staggered, dropped something on the ground, and then dove out of the storage unit and into the hallway.

“Fuck!” Chris bit out, diving for the object to see if it was what he thought it was. It was. He picked up the incendiary device and threw it through the hole that Kate had blown in the door to the room, then jumped back behind the bed. He fumbled for the mattress and just barely managed to pull it down on top of himself and Peter before the explosion went off.

He scrambled to his feet, ears ringing, and ran into the hallway. Kate was sprawled on the ground near the building’s exit, thrown there by the force of the blast. Chris grabbed her just before she could get back up, pressing her into the ground and pushing the muzzle of his gun into the back of her head, just below her ear. “Don’t make me, Kate,” he said, panting for breath. “I’ll do it if you make me.”

Kate bit out a curse and struggled regardless, but Chris had both superior strength and gravity on his side. After a few moments, she went still.

“Peter!” Chris called out, and the other man poked his head out of the storage unit. “Bring me the phone.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Peter said, back to his normal self now that the danger was over. He came out a few moments later with the phone, pressing the send button to redial Chris’ last call and then holding it to his ear. Chris wasn’t going to let up an inch on Kate; she was far too slippery for that. If he tried to handcuff her, she might get free. He was keeping his gun right where it was.

“This is Argent,” he said, when his boss picked up. “The Jaguar found us here. I have her disabled, but we need backup.”

“We’re on our way,” Stilinski said.

It was only a few minutes before Boyd, Erica, and Isaac showed up. That didn’t surprise Chris; he knew that the junior agents were deployed close by in case backup was needed. Boyd got Kate handcuffed while Chris kept the gun to her head. By the time they were done with that, Director Stilinski was there. He gave Peter a quick look to make sure that he was all right, and shook his head. “Martin’s gonna have my ass for this,” he muttered.

Since being afraid of District Attorney Lydia Martin was very sensible, Chris didn’t argue. “Sir, there’s something you should know,” he said, and gestured to Kate. “She’s my sister.”

“Your _sister_?” Stilinski asked incredulously.

Chris nodded. “Well, half-sister,” he amended. “We share a father. We didn’t grow up together and I hadn’t seen her in years, but . . .”

Stilinski sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “Great. Internal Affairs is going to have a field day with this. At least we found the God damned leak,” he added, and muttered, “Fucking Harris,” underneath his breath.

“Better late than never?” Chris said.

Stilinski didn’t look impressed. “You three,” he said, gesturing to the other agents. “Take Hale back to the original apartment, Greenhouse. Surveillance is still set up there, and now that the leak is plugged, they won’t know that’s where we took him.”

“What about Chris?” Peter asked.

“I have to be debriefed,” Chris told him.

Peter’s jaw went tight. “Shouldn’t I give a statement, to corroborate your account of things?”

“Nobody’s worried about corroboration,” Stilinski told him. “You’re alive; Chris did his job. That’s not in dispute. We need to get you back somewhere safe. You testify in less than forty-eight hours, for God’s sake. Go get some sleep.”

Peter didn’t look happy about it, but Chris gave him a nod, so he allowed himself to be shepherded away.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is NSFW. Because of course it is. XD
> 
> PS: All opinions on cities like Des Moines and Nashville are Peter's, not mine. I'm sure those are perfectly nice cities.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

It took less than an hour for Chris’ superiors to decide that, given the givens, Chris should be suspended pending investigation of his family’s criminal ties. That was exactly what Chris had expected, and it didn’t upset him. Stilinski promised him that it was only a formality, that he’d be back on the job within a week or two. “Think of it like a well-earned vacation,” he said.

Chris was too tired to argue. He went home and slept for ten hours. When he woke the next day, he texted Allison to let her know that he was done with his current job, if she wanted to come home that weekend. They could spend some quality time together for once. He watched some TV and then decided that, since there was nothing to eat in the house, he would go out and grab some fast food for lunch. He could worry about dinner later. He could worry about everything later. He could worry about Peter and not seeing Peter again at a time that was _definitely_ later, like never.

He had just gotten home and settled down with his measly bag of take-out food when his phone rang. He glanced down to see that it was Stilinski, and frowned, but answered. “Argent.”

Stilinski sounded tired and annoyed. “Hey, Chris. Can you come down to Greenhouse? We’ve got a small problem.”

“I’m not supposed to be . . .”

“I know. Look, I’ll explain when you get here, okay?” Stilinski said, and hung up without another word. Chris frowned, but turned off the television and headed for the door. He ate on the way, and headed back to the apartment building. He didn’t see the three junior agents anywhere, and figured that they were in their own apartment. He walked into Peter’s apartment, half-expecting a disaster zone.

“Ah, here you are,” Peter said, sounding satisfied. “Good.”

Chris looked at him, then between Director Stilinski and DA Martin. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Stilinski rubbed a hand over his face. “Mr. Hale would like – ”

“Mr. Hale would not ‘like’ anything,” Peter interrupted, in that pleasant tone of his that never meant well. “Mr. Hale is _insisting_ that Agent Argent be reinstated as the chief of his security detail. Effective immediately. Or Mr. Hale will not be testifying.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Stilinski muttered. “Chris, talk some sense into him.”

Chris resisted the urge to say ‘easier said than done’. But he turned to Peter and said, “They have to suspend me, Peter. There has to be an investigation.”

“No, there doesn’t,” Peter said, scoffing. “Why are they blaming you because your sister turned out to be an assassin? You said you hadn’t even seen her in years – ”

“Yes,” Stilinski said, “but regardless, it creates a conflict of interest.”

Peter brushed this aside. “I think Chris more than proved his loyalties last night when he _shot_ his sister and then threw a grenade at her rather than let harm come to me.”

“That could have been planned. She was wearing a vest – ”

“If _that’s_ the kind of thing Chris Argent planned, I’ve drastically overestimated his intelligence, and so have you,” Peter said, sarcasm dripping from his voice so vigorously that Chris sighed. “He could have killed me at any time last night. Before his sister even got there. He could have shot me and then pinned it on her and let her escape and you wouldn’t even know the assassin had even _been_ his sister. Which I don’t know why he even told you. Lord knows that I wasn’t planning to, because I knew it would result in exactly this kind of fuck-wittery.”

Chris rubbed both hands over his head. “Peter. They have to – ”

“No, they do not,” Peter said. “The only thing they have to do is reinstate you as my head of security. Because I’m supposed to be on the stand at nine AM tomorrow, and they’re going to have a nasty surprise if they haven’t done what I’ve asked.”

Stilinski’s mouth thinned, and he looked at Lydia Martin. She shrugged. “Frankly, I think he’s right. Argent has done a fine job of protecting him, and lasted longer than most of the other agents that have had to baby-sit him.”

“Peter, you can’t just bully these people into not doing their jobs,” Chris said, ignoring Lydia. “You can’t threaten not to testify. I know you’re going to testify, because you want Deucalion behind bars. You told me that. Remember?”

Peter shrugged. “I believe in justice,” he said, and his lips quirked into a smile. “It isn’t fair for you to lose your job over something that is in no way your fault. As for Deucalion, I’d very much like to see him behind bars, but I won’t weep if it doesn’t come to pass. I believe in karma, special agent in charge. One way or another, Deucalion will get what’s coming to him.”

Chris grimaced, because the others might not understand what Peter was saying, but he was clearly making the point that he can still have Deucalion killed even if he doesn’t wind up in jail.

“Jesus,” Stilinski muttered. “Is he always like this?” he asked Chris.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Chris said.

“Let me make a few calls,” Stilinski said, and walked out of the apartment.

Lydia gave Peter a hard look. “I’ll see you at eight,” she said.

“We can hope,” Peter replied, giving her a charming smile. She turned on her heel and left the apartment.

“You’re such an asshole,” Chris said to Peter. “How did you even find out I had been suspended?”

“I asked for you. Lahey said you weren’t available. It didn’t take a genius. But,” Peter added with a smile, “I just won’t feel safe if you aren’t here with me.”

“Sure you won’t,” Chris grunted.

Stilinski came back in a few minutes later. “Boy, have you pissed off a lot of people,” he said to Peter. “But you got what you wanted. Argent, you’re reinstated. That doesn’t mean that there won’t be an investigation, just that you’re not suspended while the investigation is ongoing. So you’re stuck here with him until the trial is over. Try not to throttle him. He’s going to need his voice tomorrow.”

Chris nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Peter watched him go, and closed the door behind him. “Well!” he said. “Now that that’s taken care of. Let’s watch a movie.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It turned into one of those boring, mundane days that made it difficult to believe that someone had tried to kill them with a grenade the night before. Boyd had brought them a one-thousand piece puzzle, and they spent most of the day putting that together and watching television. Peter made Isaac get them groceries and made chicken cacciatore for dinner. Then they settled on the sofa to watch another movie. Peter started to doze off, and Chris made him get up and go to bed. “It’s important to get a good night’s rest,” he said, and Peter laughed at him. “I mean it, asshole. You’re going to have a long day tomorrow.”

“I believe I could testify in my sleep, Ms. Martin has rehearsed me so thoroughly, but all right,” Peter said, and went into the bedroom. Chris spent a few minutes on the phone with Boyd, coordinating how they’re going to get Peter to the courthouse the next morning. Then he flopped down on the sofa and went to sleep.

His alarm went off at seven o’clock sharp. He got up and started the coffee maker. “You up, Peter?” he called out.

“Yes, darling, I’m just getting ready,” Peter replied.

“We leave in twenty minutes,” Chris told him.

“Won’t be a problem.”

Peter exited his bedroom a few minutes later. Chris glanced up and then frowned, taking a longer look. “You don’t look so good.”

“Makeup,” Peter said, with a gesture. “I want the jury to see me as the sleepless, terrified small-time crook who’s somehow been persuaded to testify against the scary crime boss despite my better judgment. Not as the supremely confident, charming young man that I actually am. It’ll make them more sympathetic to me and more hostile to Deucalion.”

“Not bad, Hale,” Chris said. “Martin’s idea?”

“Mine. With her approval.” Peter gave another gesture to his face and said, “Just a few smudges underneath the eyes, leave my hair a little lackluster, and didn’t bother to shave for a few days. Do you find me sympathetic, special agent in charge?”

“I don’t believe that’s possible,” Chris said dryly. “I made coffee. Drink up.”

“Excellent.” Peter went over and poured himself a mug. Not long after that, they were out of the building. He was wearing a vest, of course, but he didn’t seem particularly nervous. Chris supposed that after their encounter with Kate, it would take a lot to faze him.

It took about twenty minutes to get to the courthouse, and they went in through a side entrance. Lydia was waiting for them, and they had a special security gate there for witnesses and people who were in protective custody. Chris showed his badge and they got showed in. “Jury’s almost ready,” Lydia told them.

Chris didn’t need to stay. He could have taken a day off for once. Peter would be on the stand for the entire day, and there wasn’t any reason for Chris to hang around. But he decided that he would anyway. He felt that it was strangely important to bear witness to Peter doing the right thing. Otherwise he might never believe it actually happened.

At nine o’clock sharp, Peter was on the stand. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the bailiff asked.

“I do,” Peter said. His voice was steady, but he looked visibly nervous as he glanced at where Deucalion was sitting. For the jury’s sake, Chris supposed.

He had known about Deucalion’s criminal enterprises, of course. He had done some research when it had first come to light that Victoria’s shooting had been connected to the crime lord. But watching Peter testify, for the first time he felt like he really understood. He couldn’t condone Peter’s plan to make sure the man met a grisly fate in prison – but he could understand it.

Peter broke down Deucalion’s criminal enterprise one horror at a time. Sex trafficking. Extortion. Drugs. Insurance scams. Bribery. Blackmail. If it was illegal and hurt people, Deucalion had had his fingers in it. Lydia led him through the questions, and it was obvious that they had practiced, but he didn’t sound overly rehearsed. He looked at Deucalion and then quickly away whenever talking about something particularly terrible.

They took an hour for lunch. Peter had a sandwich and a soda and spent the rest of the hour sitting with his eyes closed.

Peter’s testimony lasted until four thirty. The judge looked at the defense attorney and said, “I presume you’ll want to cross-exam?”

“Absolutely, Your Honor,” the man said.

“We’ll adjourn for the day so the jury can go home,” the judge said, “and start again in the morning.”

The courtroom cleared. Lydia thanked Peter, reminded him of a few things to remember for his cross-examination, and turned him over to Chris. “What do you want for dinner?” Chris asked, as he drove them back to the safehouse.

“Could we just order something?” Peter asked. “I’m exhausted.”

Chris agreed. Peter didn’t even seem up to flirting, which couldn’t be a good sign. He called ahead so Erica could order some pizza for them. It arrived about five minutes after they got back to the apartment. “You okay?” he asked, a little unnerved by how quiet Peter was being.

“Tomorrow’s going to be the harder day,” was all Peter said in reply. He ate two slices of pizza and then spent the rest of the evening watching television. He didn’t start to show signs of life again until almost three hours later, when he said, “You know, if you wanted to help me sleep – ”

“I could hit you upside the head?” Chris suggested. “Or, there’s a pharmacy on the corner, I could pick you up some NyQuil.”

“You’re no fun whatsoever,” Peter said. “Don’t forget, after tomorrow, I’ve done my duty to the state, and you’ll no longer have the excuse.”

“Gee, I guess then you’ll just have to respect my right to say no,” Chris said.

“Lord, you make it sound like I’ve been sexually _harassing_ you or something – ”

“You’re such a shit.”

Peter smirked. “Good night, special agent in charge,” he said, and vanished into his bedroom. Chris settled down on the sofa.

Their routine the next morning was virtually identical. Chris got up, started the coffee maker, checked on Peter. They had a quite breakfast and left the apartment building, met Lydia at the courthouse. Chris took a seat in the last row in the courtroom to watch while Peter took the stand.

If he had been impressed with Peter’s performance the day before, it paled in comparison to his cross-exam. The defense attorney spent hour after hour trying to poke holes in Peter’s testimony, and Peter shut him down every time. When the attorney got condescending, Peter became snarky, but he never overdid it. When the attorney became aggressive, Peter held his own, but managed to convey a sense of vulnerability that resonated with the jury. The more the attorney pushed, the more the jury ate out of Peter’s hand.

They finished at around three PM and had a brief recess. Peter was escorted to the witness room, and Chris joined him. “You kicked ass in there.”

“It went rather well, I think,” Peter agreed, his voice somewhat hoarse.

Lydia joined them a few minutes later. “Deucalion’s attorney asked to speak with the judge in chambers,” she said, “and they’re going to adjourn for the day rather than start the defense.”

“So early?” Peter asked, eyes opening. “Is that normal?”

Lydia shrugged. “Now that they’ve heard your testimony, they want a little extra time to plot strategy. It makes them look weak, in my personal opinion, but I have no objection to them letting the jury sit on your testimony overnight, mulling it over.”

Peter nodded. “All right. Keep me posted, if you would,” he added, and Lydia nodded. Chris took him back to the apartment. Peter was right to a certain degree, that they could scale down security at this point. The damage was done, that was true, although Deucalion might still have him assassinated out of spite. But he was correct in that the state no longer had the same incentive to protect him. The odds that the defense would call Peter were very, very slim.

So when Peter said, “Could we please, please, for the love of God, get out of this apartment,” Chris thought it over and then said sure. Peter didn’t even care where they went, he said; he just wanted to get some fresh air and some sunlight.

It was a little chilly out, but that didn’t seem to bother Peter. They wound up at a little coffee shop where Peter could finally get the ridiculous drink he wanted, along with some pastries. They ate outside, in silence. Chris felt surprisingly comfortable with it. He had expected Peter to be particularly obnoxious in the wake of his performance, but he was quiet, pensive. Chris supposed that it was sinking in for him now, that he had accomplished his goal and would have to start a new life. For the first time, Chris wondered if it _wasn’t_ a terrible idea to have as much sex with Peter as possible in the week or two before he got whisked away into witness protection. They couldn’t have any sort of long-term relationship – Chris didn’t even know if he would _want_ one – but what was the point of wasting their last week together?

After about an hour, Chris got Peter up and took him back to the safe house. Peter curled up on the sofa and said, “What will you do, after the trial is over?”

Chris shrugged. “Get some new job. Protecting someone else, or maybe working another case somewhere. It’ll depend on where I’m needed. Are you, uh, looking forward to starting your new life?”

“Lord, no,” Peter said, sounding glum. “Des Moines. If I’m _lucky_. They’ll give me some ridiculous fake name like Harvey Snyder. I’ll get a nine-to-five government job that will slowly drive me insane, and never want to travel lest somebody find me.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Worth it. But still. What about you? Looking forward to me finally being out of your hair?”

“Not as much as I would have expected,” Chris said.

Peter opened one eye. “You know, I’m going to remind you that you said that tomorrow. I’d be all up on it tonight, if I weren’t so exhausted.”

“We’ll see,” Chris said scornfully, and Peter laughed despite himself. They watched television and did the crossword puzzle. Peter made dinner and they ate on the sofa. Peter fell asleep and for once Chris didn’t move him. They just slept on the sofa together.

When he woke the next morning, Peter was gone, and he could hear the noise of the shower. Since he guessed there was at least a fifty percent chance that Peter was going to come out of the bathroom naked, he started thinking about the best way to disable the camera in the bedroom. He could just toss his shirt over it, but what if it slipped off? He’d seen enough teen comedies to know that was a horrible idea. No, he would just have to unplug it.

There was a knock on the door before he could put any of these plans into action, and he went to answer it. He looked through the peephole, expecting it would be one of the junior agents (if it was Erica, probably to ask if she should just turn the apartment monitors off), but it was Lydia Martin and another woman he didn’t know. He pulled open the door and said, “Shouldn’t you be in court right now?”

With a wide, satisfied smile, Lydia said, “No. He pled out.”

“He pled out?” Chris asked, stunned.

“Mm hm. They decided that attempting to mount a defense wasn’t going to work. They knew there was no recovering from Peter’s testimony after he performed so well on the cross-exam. I think they pictured that going very, very differently. Where’s Peter?”

“He, uh, he’s in the shower,” Chris said, glad that he was fully dressed. “I’ll go let him know you’re here.” He went into the bedroom and, reluctantly, poked his head into the bathroom. “Peter?”

Peter laughed in response. “Just come in already.”

“Martin’s here,” Chris told him, and the laughter stopped. “Deucalion pled out.”

There was a long silence. Then Peter said, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Chris closed the door and went back into the living room. “Coffee?” he asked the two women, who gladly accepted his offer. He was able to keep himself busy with that until Peter appeared, fully dressed but hair still damp, and unshaven.

“What’s his sentence?” was Peter’s greeting.

“Fifty years, eligible for parole at twenty,” she replied. “He’s already been remanded into custody.”

Chris expected that Peter would be upset at the comparatively light sentence, but when Peter just nodded, he remembered that Peter planned to have Deucalion killed in jail before the year was out. He thought about mentioning that, but decided against it.

“Anything else I need to know?” he asked.

Lydia shook her head. “Meredith is here to get you into witness protection.” She reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you for everything.”

“My pleasure,” Peter said. He turned to Chris and added, “Well, I suppose this is it, then.”

Chris was left momentarily speechless. This wasn’t at all how he had pictured this going, and now he had to accept that he was going to walk out of this apartment and never see Peter Hale again.

Maybe it was all for the best. No, it was almost _definitely_ all for the best. But that didn’t stop the momentary pang of ‘I’m not ready’. He forced a professional smile and said to Peter, “Stay out of trouble, Hale.”

Peter laughed and said, “Come on, special agent in charge . . . how likely is that?” He leaned up and pressed his mouth against Chris’ in a light, chaste kiss that nearly drove the other man to his knees. “Don’t forget me,” he said, and Chris fled the apartment as quickly as he could.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Despite the way things had ended with Peter Hale, it _was_ nice to get back to his own house. To use his own shower, to sleep in his own bed. Allison was home for the weekend, and he gave her a hug and they decided to get Chinese food. They were kibitzing over what to order when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it, if you want to phone in the order,” Chris said, heading for the door.

He opened it to see Peter Hale standing on his doorstep. He stared for a long minute, then swung the door shut. “I did not see that,” he said to the ceiling.

“Who is it?” Allison asked, coming into the front hall, holding her phone in one hand.

“Nobody,” Chris said. “It is nobody.”

The doorbell rang again. Allison gave her father a questioning look, then looked through the peephole. “Oh my God! Is that the guy you told me about?!”

“No,” Chris said. “It can’t possibly be the guy, because he’s in witness protection, and he _can’t_ be stupid enough to ditch that just so he can come torment me.”

“You didn’t tell me he was hot!” Allison said.

“He is not – ” Chris dissolved into sputtering as Allison pulled the front door open with a grin.

“Hi,” she said to Peter. “I’m Allison. Chris’ daughter. I’m on my way out to spend the night at a girlfriend’s. I won’t be back tonight. Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter said, smirking as Allison bounced past him. He stepped inside and she swung the door shut after herself.

“What the hell are you _doing_ here?” Chris demanded. “You’re supposed to be in witness protection!”

“You can protect me,” Peter pointed out.

Chris thought of a hundred different retorts to that, but decided that by far the most pithy was his tongue in Peter’s mouth. Or at least some part of him decided that. He wasn’t quite aware of it happening consciously, but the next thing he knew, he had Peter pinned up against the front door and was kissing him hard enough to make both of them see stars. Peter made a surprised ‘mmph’ noise but didn’t protest at all. Chris just kissed him and kissed him until he had to break away and gasp for breath. “You’re _such an asshole_ ,” he growled.

“Guilty,” Peter said breathlessly.

Chris shoved him into the kitchen. “Stay there.”

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, lifting himself up to sit on the table.

“I’m locking the door and setting the alarm since I have an _idiot_ in my house who might still be on the hit list of a major crime syndicate,” Chris snapped, punching the buttons on his alarm system like they had personally wronged him.

“I feel much safer here than in that cute little one-story in Nashville,” Peter said. “Honestly, _Nashville_. They didn’t even ask my opin – ”

“Shut up, you little prick,” Chris said, grabbing Peter’s belt and hauling him up so they were face to face “I don’t want to hear about why you’re not in witness protection, I don’t want your opinions on my house or my daughter, I don’t want you to make me dinner or, for that matter, say a God damned word. The only thing I want right now is to strip you naked and use your body for my sexual satisfaction until you have paid me back for all the torture you put me through. If that’s a fucking problem for you, you’d better let me know now.”

Peter’s hand twisted in the back of Chris’ shirt. “That sounds like the opposite of a problem, really,” he said.

“Glad to hear it,” Chris said, and kissed him again. They kissed for what felt like hours, until his lips were practically numb. Peter was still half-sitting on the table, with Chris’ thigh wedged comfortably between his legs, and Chris could feel the other man’s erection pressing against him. He grabbed Peter’s stupid tantalizing V-neck and dragged it over his head before pushing him back so he was lying on the table.

Peter made a pleased noise in the back of his throat as Chris bent over him, biting at his collarbone, thumbs rubbing over his nipples. Chris wanted to touch everywhere all at once, and Peter arched into it, wherever his hands went. He rubbed his cheek against Peter’s abdomen, leaving trails of stubble burn behind. Peter didn’t seem to mind. Peter let him stay there for what felt like hours, leaving all kinds of marks as he explored.

Chris yanked Peter’s belt off and tossed it aside, but didn’t unbutton or unzip his pants. He just nuzzled the bulge in Peter’s pants through the fabric, mouthing at it and enjoying the way Peter groaned, the way Peter’s grip on his shoulders tightened.

“You don’t fight fair, special agent in charge,” Peter gasped out, his hips flexing upwards unconsciously.

“No talking,” Chris told him. But he had to leave off and straighten up; his back was starting to twinge. There was a small part of him that pointed out that maybe sex in the kitchen wasn’t the best idea. He had to make food in this kitchen. His daughter ate breakfast on the table that they’re currently making out on.

As soon as he straightened up, Peter was on him, stripping his shirt off and running firm, confident hands over Chris’ chest and back. Chris leaned back against the refrigerator and decided he could let Peter do what he wanted for a while. Especially since Peter was working on the zipper of his pants. “Shit,” he said, as Peter wrapped a hand around his cock and drew it out of his pants.

“Mm, I see I was right,” Peter said, and Chris groaned, tilting his head back as Peter’s hand slid up and down his dick.

“What did I say about _no talking_ ,” Chris growled and twisted a hand in Peter’s hair, pulling him in for another kiss. Peter gave him a firm squeeze, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, and he bit down on Peter’s lip almost by accident. His knees felt a little wobbly, and that obviously wouldn’t do. He grabbed Peter by both wrists and turned him around so he was pressed face-first into the refrigerator with Chris behind him. He leaned back into Chris as Chris ran his hands up and down Peter’s chest, then ventured lower, undoing his pants.

“Fu . . . fuck, Chris,” Peter gasped out, as Chris finally got his hands on Peter’s cock, giving it firm, even strokes. Peter tried to push into his hands, but didn’t really have the leverage. Chris pulled them away from the fridge and they stumbled back over to the table. Peter braced himself against it with both hands, leaning over slightly so Chris could grind against his ass while he jerked him off.

He could only handle it for a minute, though; the rough fabric of Peter’s jeans was too much for his aching cock. Besides, he couldn’t kiss Peter like this, and that wasn’t acceptable. He hauled the other man upwards and they spent several minutes stumbling around the kitchen, getting in a solid grope here and there but mostly just kissing.

They at least made it to the sofa before Peter managed to kick his pants off and the two of them went sprawling. Chris pulled Peter on top of him, grabbing his ass with both hands. They kissed for a few more minutes, but Peter’s breath was starting to come sharp and rapid, and he was squirming around on top of Chris, trying to get some leverage.

“Listen to me, you smug little bastard,” Chris said, wrapping a hand around the base of Peter’s dick and squeezing. “You don’t get to come first. Not after everything you put me through. So you’d better get to work.”

“Son of a . . .” Peter gave a little shudder and tried to thrust into Chris’ hands, but Chris wouldn’t let him. “You drive a hard bargain, special agent in charge . . . very hard indeed,” he added, and Chris groaned from the pun as much as the feeling of Peter’s hands on him. Peter jerked him off hard and fast, almost _too_ rough, and he gave his hand a little twist around the head of Chris’ cock that made Chris throw his head back and gulp for air. Peter leaned down and licked at the hollow of Chris’ throat, slow and deliberate in counterpoint to the quick pace of his hand. That was too much for Chris, who came so suddenly that it startled both of them. Peter laughed against his neck, stroking him through the aftershocks.

Chris had to lie there for a minute while he came down from it, but he had the sense to loosen his hand around Peter’s dick. Peter wasted no time, pressing his forehead against Chris’ chest and fucking into Chris’ hand. Chris decided to just let him do whatever he wanted. He had earned it. But he couldn’t resist the urge to reach up to cradle Peter’s face in his free hand, rubbing his thumb over Peter’s lips. Peter’s mouth opened and he let Chris slide a few fingers inside, sucking on them in a way that had a lot of promise for the rest of their evening. Then he shuddered, biting down on those fingers as he came.

Chris rubbed his hand up and down Peter’s back as he relaxed against him, evoking another shiver or two as he found more sensitive places or marks he had left. Peter made a noise of satisfaction and pressed his face into the crook of Chris’ neck. “How many times do you think we can do that before your daughter gets home?”

“One,” Chris said, “because as soon as you’re feeling better, I’m going to fuck you into the mattress so hard that you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“Oh, I don’t know. My ass is amazingly resilient,” Peter said, pulling away far enough to smirk at Chris. “Besides, if my ass needs recovery time, I can always fuck you while we wait.”

“I’ll think about it,” Chris said, wondering if he has any condoms in the house. He hadn’t needed any in, well. A long time. Then he realized that Peter undoubtedly had some with him, because that was exactly the kind of asshole he was. “But first you’re going to tell me why you aren’t in witness protection.”

Peter shrugged. “Witness protection is really for people who can’t manage to pull a disappearing act on their own. I’m quite capable – and had, in fact, been thoroughly prepared to need to do so. I have a number of fake identities and enough money for several lifetimes. And if you ever believed that I was going to let them pack me off to somewhere like Nashville or Des Moines to work forty hours a week as a government clerk, you’re a lot stupider than I gave you credit for.”

Chris grimaced. “But why come back _here_? You know they’re going to be looking for you.”

“Because you and I had unfinished business,” Peter said, smirking and running a finger up and down Chris’ chest. “I wasn’t about to let you go.”

“Does that mean you’re going to leave after tonight?” Chris asked, ignoring the tightness in his stomach that this question caused.

“Lord, no. That was the best sex I’ve had in ages. I’m not going anywhere. Regardless of whether or not you destroy my ass.”

“And you’re aware of how stupid that is, right?”

Peter shrugged. “Deucalion’s syndicate is nearly dismantled. The people who rallied around him will desert him now that it’s clear he’s going to be incarcerated for a long while, and the sooner I can engineer his death, the sooner the danger I’m in will be over. I can take care of myself, you know. And I do believe you’re quite skilled as well.”

Chris sighed. “Well, they might be looking for you sooner than you imagined. When you don’t show up for whatever job WPP got for you on Monday, they’re bound to notice, and even if they don’t care, if it gets flagged in the system, that information could reach less savory parties.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Peter scoffed. “I was hardly about to let the hard work of the witness protection agents go to waste. Harvey Snyder or whatever ridiculous name they gave me will indeed show up to work on Monday and nobody will ever be the wiser.” He saw the way Chris was looking at him and continued smugly. “I went to a local homeless shelter and offered the position out to a gentleman who was down on his luck.”

Chris gave him a skeptical look. “Did you mention to this gentleman that the position might entail being murdered by the mob?”

“Of course,” Peter said. “I’m not a monster,” he added, poking Chris in the ribs. “I told him that it came with a house and a job with a paycheck and that I really only gave it about twenty percent odds that they would bother to come after me at all, let alone be able to find me. The man is trying to provide for three daughters, one of whom has cerebral palsy, and he decided the risk was worth it. Besides, even _if_ Deucalion manages to coordinate from inside prison and figure out where witness protection shipped me off to, as soon as the assassin gets a look at our friend Harvey, they’ll know it’s not me.” He gives that same satisfied smile and says, “He’s black.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you,” Chris growled, and Peter nodded. “I hate that about you.”

“No, I’m fairly sure that you adore that about me.”

“Whatever you say, Harvey,” Chris responded.

Peter let out a snort of laughter. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Better believe it.” Chris leaned over and kissed him again, biting at his lower lip. “I hope you understand that you’re not going anywhere until I’ve given as good as I got over the past few weeks.”

Peter looked at Chris from underneath his eyelashes and said, “I’m going to have to stick around for a while, then.”

“Yes,” Chris said, and kissed him. “Yes, you are.”

 

~fin~


End file.
